


fuck, hughie, i--

by CookieMonstersRUs



Series: fuck, I love you, I love you [15]
Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anger, Angry Sex, BDSM Scene, Bottom Butcher, Bottom Hughie, Bottoming from the Top, Boys In Love, Butcher absolutely needs therapy xoxo, CHAD!!!, Character Death, Day At The Beach, Disguise, Dom/sub, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Emotional Fucking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Everything that could go wrong goes wrong, Explosions, Fake Character Death, Florida is my enemy, Fluffy Ending, Frenchie is HIDING something, Fresca, Grief/Mourning, Guns, Happy Ending, Headspace, I attempt to write a sequel, I want Robin and Annie to be more involved in this fic, Idiots in Love, Investigations, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Moving In Together, No Aftercare, Oh and uh, Praise Kink, Relgious BDSM Scene, Roadtrips, Rough Sex, Safeword Use, Safewords, Sexual Fantasy, Spanking, Supportive Lesbian Friends, Surprise Dates, Talking, Temporary Character Death, Top Butcher, Top Hughie, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wakes & Funerals, Yikes!, also pls be reading these tags as if they're funny this fic isn't dark not really sksksk, and an idea from hughie, and for anyone that's horny explicit sex is in chpt 5 and 8, awkward af phone calls, because he is too much of a romantic, because hughie is lowkey bad at topping skksksks, but alas, butcher is a sweet boyfriend and hughie is husband material, butcher takes one for the team, dennys, evil villain bullshit, frenchie cannot keep a secret, horrible disguises, i attempt to write a British accent, i don't fuck with florida, mentioned previous sex scenes, ofc these two love each other DUH, slightly dubious sexual practices, slow fucking, stormfront and her stupid eugenics ideas which i CERTAINLY do not condone ty, the author was vibing tonight lets see if that continues, the velvet tracksuit from hell, this whole fic is about unhealthy spanking when your boyfriend fakes his death, youre welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieMonstersRUs/pseuds/CookieMonstersRUs
Summary: if there's one thing certain in this world, it's that billy butcher and hughie campbell couldn't last long...otherwise known as the one where hughie's whole world explodes, but there's still hope in the rubble.
Relationships: Billy Butcher/Hughie Campbell
Series: fuck, I love you, I love you [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1452367
Comments: 207
Kudos: 178





	1. fuck, butcher, let me in

**Author's Note:**

> TW: explosions, death :)  
> should be expected in this fandom
> 
> general warning: the author is a cruel cruel being ;)

New York City could be an ugly place, but Hughie didn’t mind it these days. Life was on the uptick. He had a good job as a developer for a sustainability company, had a great friendship going with Robin, Annie, and Shawn from work, and had a wonderful gruff boyfriend. Sex and food never tasted so good and Hughie had _things_ going on in his life. He wasn’t stuck and he was pretty sure he was about to get a promotion. A promotion meant a pay increase, a pay increase meant he could easily pay someone’s rent, and paying rent meant moving in with Butcher.

Hughie was practically living there, but still. Hughie wanted more than a drawer for his clothes and a place to hang his work keys; he wanted to pay rent and fight with Butcher over who had to do the dishes and invest in a puppy or something as equally domestic as fuck. And it wasn’t just Hughie who wanted this, Butcher asked Hughie if he needed anything from the store and told him how to contact the landlord and asked if he _really_ needed to go back to his dad’s instead of staying at home. And yes, Butcher actually called it _home_ when referencing their place and at what point did Hughie start thinking of it as _theirs_? Meanwhile, Hugh Campbell fretted over the idea of Hughie actually leaving the nest, but not as much as he used to when Hughie first started spending all his time at Butcher’s. 

After work, Hughie made his way home via the subway, but not before deciding to stop by one of the shops. It was a Thursday and Hughie got off work much earlier than usual because their company’s major conference wrapped up earlier in the week and everyone was taking it easy and basking in their new fortunes and partnerships with other businesses. They had a three day weekend and Monday might’ve been cancelled too. Shawn had mentioned going on a trip out of town to see his girlfriend while Hughie’s boss had mentioned special tickets to go see _Hamlet_ , which wasn’t in Hughie’s taste but whatever let off the steam yeah? As for Hughie, his plans mostly involved fine dining, a bottle of lube, and a _Lord of the Rings_ movie marathon, but Hughie wouldn’t mind if Butcher got his way and they ended up watching _Logan Lucky_ with Hughie sideways on the couch. 

In the store, Hughie debated over which brand of bacon to buy and whether or not they were called scallions or green onions. He also picked up an extra box of linguini, a box of Frescas, and two bags of Snyder’s Honey Mustard Pretzels because Butcher was a monster when it came to eating the good stuff. It was too early to really think about dinner, but a bacon carbonara could be good and Hughie actually knew how to make that. Annie had insisted on teaching him whatever recipes she was making when he came over to hang out, and although Hughie understood it was all a ploy to teach a grown man how to actually be one, he appreciated it immensely and made sure to return the favor with any vintage lesbian comics he spotted at the shop.

He carried all of his goodies in one big brown bag. Hughie had contemplated stopping by the liquor store, but figured he’d already be a lush tonight with no responsibilities for the next three days. 

The sky was bright but cloudy, which was on par for city life. The streets were grimy, people in shades of blue and green like they were in a _Twilight_ movie, but Hughie didn’t mind it. It was mid-April, things warm from spring, and slightly sticky. He’d been foolish enough to wear his actual coat to work (it was the best one for hiding his wallet on the inside.) His better and lighter coat was back in the apartment. Hughie honestly didn’t mind it, although he really did need to get a haircut soon if it was going to get warmer.. 

He was a block or two from their apartment when his phone started to buzz. Hughie fished it out and answered it when he saw it was from Butcher. 

“Hey,” Hughie grinned, “I’m almost home so if you wanted something else from the store then your S.O.L. because it’s Bilbo time.”

_“Listen, Hughie,”_ Butcher sounded out of breath, distracted. _“I don’t think you should come over tonight.”_

Hughie slowed but not to a halt. “What? Why?” 

_“I just think, fuck—”_ over the line, Hughie heard Butcher smack something. Then there was a distant crash.

“Butcher?” Hughie questioned. “What just fell?”

_“Don’t come over.”_

“But we were gonna watch movies? I bought stuff for carbonara.” Hughie started walking again. “Did something happen? I see our building, I might as well drop off—” 

_“Do not step any closer to the apartment!”_ Butcher suddenly shouted. 

Hughie froze. “Billy?” his voice small.

On the other end, he could hear harsh breathing, what sounded like glass under boots, the sound of a cabinet getting kicked at. _“Fuck!”_

“Butcher?” Hughie asked again, walking again, “Tell me what’s going on. Is everything okay?”

_“No everything is not fucking okay, alright?”_ Butcher cursed. Hughie bit his lip in concern. _“I came home and everything was—you can’t come in here, okay Hughie, I need you to stay out of this—and the bloody fucking door! The stupid fucking door I—”_ Butcher let out a choked noise, almost exhausted with himself, with whatever was going on. 

His gut began to gnaw at him. “I have a key,” Hughie offered. The building was in sight now. “If the door is jammed I can come and—”

_“No!”_ Butcher shouted. Hughie blinked at how loud, how adamant he was of it. _“No,”_ Butcher repeated, more softly this time. _“Hughie, don’t come in here.”_ It sounded like he was leaning against the door, bracing himself for something. Hughie didn’t understand it.

“Butcher, it’s really no problem,” Hughie soothed. “A door jam is pretty easy to fix.”

_“Not this one,”_ Butcher sighed. _“It’s too late to fix this.”_

It was only three forty-seven in the afternoon. He was just outside the building now, could even see their room on the upper floors. The blue curtains were drawn. Hughie imagined Butcher pacing in the kitchen while Hughie laid on the couch with a slice of droopy pizza. Whatever was going on, it could be fixed. 

_“Fuck,”_ Butcher’s voice began to drip with tears, confusing Hughie even more, _“Hughie, I—I love—”_

_boom_

Glass rained down on Hughie, sound crunching and then overwhelming him in every direction as flames littered his vision. His phone fell out of his hands, his knees buckling at the force of the explosion that ripped through him. And he felt like he knew, as his knees hit the sidewalk, as the bags of pretzels were crushed beneath him, as a piece of falling brick scraped the side of his head, that Butcher was gone. That the explosion came from their place. That he’d never hear from Butcher again. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t bear any of it as the screaming and burning and crushing all morphed into one ringing sound, Butcher’s final words shattering like glass.

_I—I love—_


	2. fuck, butcher, i miss you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNINGGGG!!! this chapter is HEAVY, please babes take CARE OF YOURSELVES! there is some suicidal thinking on Hughie's part and the first part of this whole fic is pretttty depressing and I know it can be really difficult to read through, so DONT if it's gonna hurt you. take care of yourselves, now more than ever, i love you and i am here for you and i distinctly value you as individuals even if i do not personally know you. anyway, hughie is going to be OK, but it's gonna be a ROUGH moment. grief is HARD, but i will gladly wipe your tears away my dears

Late January, miserable and wet outside, Hughie and Butcher curled up on the couch. Butcher was reading some kind of bodice ripper, but pretending it was a detective novel. Hughie was on his computer, working on his latest report for the company. They were both wearing fuzzy socks and sweatpants, and yet Hughie was still cold enough to need the purple afghan over his legs. His head was pillowed in Butcher’s lap. Butcher had one hand on the book, the other in Hughie’s hair, soft strokes that he noticed every time there was a lull in the work. It was dark outside, still winter. Later, they’d order Thai and put on an action movie. And when they were too tired to move, they’d pull each other up from the couch and to their bed. Butcher would complain of being an old man and full of headaches. Hughie would chuckle and hug Butcher, cradling him in his arms, and they’d fall asleep like that, to each other’s breaths, and the distant sound of sirens, rain water, and winter wind.

* * *

The funeral was held on a Sunday and Hughie almost didn’t go. What was left of Butcher—and Hughie didn’t believe it was Butcher until Annie herself checked with the lab—was cremated and given to M.M. because Hughie’s hands had shaken so badly that not even Robin holding onto him could keep him still.

He spent most of his time curled up in the bathroom of his dad’s apartment, which these days felt like a hospice, forehead resting against the porcelain in an attempt to ease his knotted stomach. He picked at the tiles and couldn’t get the sight of raining glass out of his head. The sound of fucking crunched pretzels. The last choked words over the line.

Billy Butcher was murdered. That was all Hughie could tell. And that Frenchie knew something, but wouldn’t say, wouldn’t even look at him. Guilt or fear, whatever it was, it made Hughie ache. It must’ve been a case that did him in. It had to be. In the days _after_ , Hughie spent half his time expecting Butcher to knock on his bedroom door at his dad’s place and tell him to come back home, and the other half expected a phone call at three AM from an unknown number with Homelander on the other fucking end. But neither came. When Hughie brought it up over the phone, his voice cracked at seven in the morning, unable to sleep, M.M. reassured him that Fenchie was cagey because he was looking into it. M.M. told him they had yet to see any connections to America’s Biggest Cunt Face.

It all felt wrong. 

His vision spun when he sat up from bed, if he sat up at all. His body had shut down while his fingers couldn’t stop scratching at the scabs left from the explosion. He fixated on the space at the back of his right ear and at the top of his left ankle, curled up in an angry ball as he picked and prodded and scraped at his own skin, begging for any of it to make sense. _Why was he dead? Why was Butcher fucking dead? Why couldn’t he let me help him?_

The door had been completely fucked up, Annie told him. There was no way out of the apartment except jumping out of the window. Hughie imagined Butcher careening through the glass in his leather coat, cursing to hell and back, only to be caught by Hughie. At least then Butcher would be in his arms. Hughie couldn’t fucking remember the last time they’d hugged. Was it that morning? The night before? When had they last kissed? When was the last time Hughie rubbed his thumb along the backs of Butcher’s knuckles and heard his deep chuckle and memorized the lines of his beard? When was it? When the _fuck_ was it?

It wasn’t so much a funeral as a wake. Hughie felt half asleep as he was guided into the bar where Butcher’s family, friends, and beloved clients were gathered. A motley crowd. Hughie’s father stayed behind to clean up whatever nightmarish state Hughie had left his room in. Robin and Annie were being incredibly kind and quiet to him, keeping silent while they stood close. He hated it and he hated that the eyes of those gathered on him, some in curiosity, some leerful because they were fucking idiots, and he hated that he couldn’t do anything about it and he hated that they got a fucking cake as if it was something to celebrate and he hated that he didn’t have his favorite jacket and he fucking hated that he was in this stupid fucking situation in the fucking first place.

“I need to go,” Hughie muttered.

“No,” Robin said, tightening her grip on him. If it was anyone else, Hughie would bolt, but he could listen to Robin just this once. 

Jesus fucking Christ Billy Butcher was _dead._

They met M.M. at the bar. Frenchie and Kimiko were at the other end. Kimiko looked exhausted, four empty shots around her, and if nothing else, Hughie knew the world was ending because Kimiko looked as uprooted as him. Frenchie glanced at him and then turned away, grabbing the fifth shot and wiping at his face. Just once, Hughie wished Frenchie would call him something stupid like _mon fraise_ or _petit Hughie_.

“How you holding up?” M.M. asked, handing Hughie his own glass of scotch. Hughie almost didn’t drink it. Butcher was a whiskey man. 

Hughie didn’t answer, downing half of the glass instead, although that was an answer all on its own. It burned his throat and it made his eyes water for a moment, which made actually crying a lot easier than it should’ve been. He’d cried for days, he wasn’t going to do it right now.

“Where's Lenny?” Hughie rasped out, thinking of Butcher’s brother. Hughie didn’t want to hear from Butcher’s parents, but his brother, that was another story.

“Len couldn’t get a plane,” M.M. told him. “There was an earthquake. He wants to hold a memorial, for Butcher’s birthday.”

Hughie swallowed. “Right.”

“We’re going to give toasts and shit like that in a bit,” M.M. continued, as if Hughie had been better equipped to handle all this. “You don’t have to speak unless you want to, but I think it could be good if you did.”

Hughie wasn’t used to feeling his throat close up at the thought of talking aloud. That had been a symptom of the weird fuckery Hughie and Butcher got up to before they were together and in love and shit. Hughie had moved pretty far past that inability to speak, that fear and panic slipping down his spine, but now he was trapped in the harsh grind of his own teeth and unable to do anything about it. He couldn’t speak about Butcher, felt like a boat left out at sea. 

Robin and Annie settled him down at a booth. They offered him pretzels, water, a slice of cake, a vodka cranberry. He felt suffocated and warmed by their presence, felt ashamed of how often he needed them when he was like this and so thankful to have their soft eyes even in moments like these. He’d been dealt a shitty couple of blows the past couple of years but this was...this was some-fucking-thing else. Hughie asked for a whiskey, one of the brands Butcher liked, and M.M. took up the main parts of the wake, standing at the center and greeting everyone. 

Hughie played with his glass, refusing to look at M.M. as he spoke about his best friend.

“…you all know, Billy,” M.M. joked. “A son of a bitch to the end. He gave us our best cases, our best laughs, our best memories. He was a damn good cop, but an even finer detective. A hero even, he took down Homelander when no one else could, and…” 

Hughie rubbed his eyes and looked up, away from the probing eyes of Annie and Robin, and certainly not at the crowd gathered for Butcher. He didn’t want to hear this. It was all bullshit anyway. Butcher was fantastic, but not an easy person to get on with, and from what Hughie could tell, had only mellowed out in recent years. These people would’ve known the sleazy, depressed Butcher, and if they knew him from before that, back when Becca was alive, then no they didn’t know Butcher.

The front door of the bar opened and a woman walked in. She had short, brown hair, a half-shave. For a moment Hughie thought it might’ve been the kind of person he’d meet at _Noir_ , but the hard line of her mouth made him re-evaluate. Not gay. She perched herself at the bar, almost like she had stumbled in on the wake, which made Hughie for one irrational moment, but then she turned to their group and drank her beer as if she was meant to be here. When M.M. got to the cheering part of his speech, she joined in. 

“We all know that Butcher was taken too soon from us,” M.M. said in the end. “He left behind a widower,” Hughie downed his drink at that, “and a mountain of casework that’ll take Frenchie and I weeks to sift through.” This got a round of chuckles. “To Billy Butcher!”

“To Butcher!” a chorus rang.

“To Butcher,” Robin and Annie murmured.

Hughie asked for another drink.

* * *

It didn’t get better. 

It was like Butcher had stolen one of his ribs and every time he breathed he felt the ache of it. He didn’t want to go to work, but his boss had been so nice to him already with the bereavement leave. His dad also didn’t know what to do with him. Hughie barely spoke, his second wind gone from his lungs. When he finally showed up for work, Thursday morning, two weeks later, he had on the thickest coat he owned and was wearing a thick pair of socks in sixty degree weather. He was sweating through it, but he couldn’t take off the layers because he was shivering just as much. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop shivering, his back always in a half-spasm from the stress.

Shawn sat at the desk next to Hughie’s. Their boss and all of their other coworkers gave Hughie pitying smiles, not saying a word as he passed them. Hughie tried not to think about it as he sat down, coat and all, and turned on his computer. The aching in his chest only grew.

“Hey man,” Shawn greeted, smiling at him. “How have you’ve been? We’ve missed you.”

Hughie shrugged.

Shawn, not deterred, continued, “Minifie in human resources told me Chad Carmichael was coming to visit later in the week, can you believe that?”

“Wow that’s crazy,” Hughie mumbled as he opened his files. No one here knew that Hughie knew was a close friend to Chad, and once, long ago, a partner of his. 

“You think he’s a new investor?” Shawn wondered.

“Could be,” Hughie murmured. He probably was. Hughie’d been invited to Chad’s birthday a couple of months ago. They’d talked about the company and Chad had shown some interest, but that had been that. It didn’t matter. 

Hughie pulled up his newest assignment. While at home, he’d worked a little, between crying and shaking against the shower wall, on one of his boss’s assignments. Now he was on a new one. Things moved on without him. 

* * *

After work, Hughie has to stop by the office. Kimiko texted him that there was a box with Hughie’s name on it, but no one was sure when it was from or what it was for, just that it was taped to hell and back and that it had his name on it. He didn’t want to go to their office, there were way too many memories there. One night after work, the two had shared gyros over Butcher’s case files because he was still on the clock. They’d spent an hour eating, another hour discussing the case, and a third making out against the desk before Butcher sent him home. Another time, they’d fucked against the windowsill and Hughie had moaned so loud that M.M. banned office sex much to Butcher, Hughie, Frenchie, and Kimiko’s chagrin. 

Hughie fiddled with his work desk, delaying the inevitable. Shawn was out on a smoke break, had another couple of projects to work on, but the rest of the office was quite or had went home. Hughie sighed and buttoned up his coat and left the building. He putzed around on the subway, caught between needing to sit down in exhaustion and being anxious enough to need to pace. The rest of the passengers probably thought he was high or in need of another hit with how red his eyes were, how pale his cheeks were. He fucked his way towards the office, his gut clenching, his thoughts jumbled and sputtering like a clogged drain, but made it to the familiar brown building. There was a take out place below the shop, the smell familiar and he could already feel the nausea of memory clouding him.

He swallowed and took the stairs to the upper floor. He needed to hold onto the railing, woozy with exertion. He hadn’t eaten enough today. There was a light on behind the fogged glass of the private investigation agency. The office looked foreboding, like his worst fucking nightmare, like a salve to a third degree burn. 

Butcher. 

The door was locked. Hughie knocked. He heard muffled voices on the other side. A door opening and closing. The door knob twisted and Hughie was met with the gaunt face of Frenchie. It was like staring into the mirror. They had the same bags under their eyes, the same half-crazed look, the same shaking of the shoulders.

“Hughie,” he said cheerfully. It sounded fake. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Hughie stared at Frenchie for one dumb moment, then he glanced at the office doors behind him. M.M. sat in the front part of the office while Butcher had one office and Frenchie and Kimiko shared another. Butcher’s door was opened, Frenchie’s was shut. Butcher’s room was dark, Frenchie’s was lit. He could see a vague shadow in the office walls.

“Who here?” Hughie asked, voice scratched to hell and back.

“A client,” Frenchie said quickly. Too quickly. Frenchie was a fucking terrible liar. Hughie narrowed his eyes and pushed further into the office.

“Is it--” Hughie couldn’t say it. He was delirious with the question, with the possibility, with the fear.

“Hughie,” Frenchie snatched him by the arm, pulling him to a stop. “It’s not--it’s not a client,” Frenchie admitted. “It’s an old friend of mine.” Hughie wouldn’t stop looking at the door. “My former lover.”

Hughie finally looked at him. Frenchie’s exhaustion clear on his face. 

“I made a mistake,” Frenchie whispered. “A couple months ago, while Kimiko was away.”

“You cheated on her?” Hughie whispered, surprised. It felt like a shadow had been dropped across Frenchie’s soul at the confession. Frenchie and Kimiko were in love, and had one of the smoothest relationships Hughie had ever seen. They were two sides of the same coin. “How could you?” Better yet, how was Frenchie planning on living after he fessed up? Kimiko could beat up anyone, and would do so willingly if someone had hurt her.

“It was a mistake,” Frenchie repeated, regret in his voice. “I love Kimiko dearly.”

He couldn’t do this. “Where's the box?”

“In here,” Frenchie said. He guided Hughie into Butcher’s office. 

Hughie sucked in a deep breath and choked on it. It still smelled like him. Teasers gathered in his vision, his chest clenched uncomfortably tight as he wavered between wanting to breathe in as much Butcher as possible and get rid of the reminder all together. Fuck, what the _fuck_. 

Atop the desk was a box, big enough that Hughie would need both arms to walk home with it. He might need an Uber or a taxi or whatever the fuck it was. It was covered in black tape. Hughie wanted to open it in the office, sift through it and take out whatever was stupid. For all he knew, it could be full of case files. But when he shook it, it rattled with objects, not papers. Hughie pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out what it was, what it meant, when Butcher had done all of this.

“Hughie, about Kimiko--” Frenchie started.

“You’re fucked up,” Hughie told him, wiping the tears of his face. He picked up the box, refusing to take a look around the room. “I gotta go.” He carried the box through the office and shouldered his way past Frenchie.

“Hughie, wait,” Frenchie called, desperation in the air.

* * *

Hughie sat atop his childhood bed and opened the box with shaky hands. At the very top were a few paper weights. Below them were a couple of picture frames. One was of The Boys, another of him and Lenny on some kind of mountain, and the last one was of him and Butcher. Over the summer, they took a trip out to Long Island. They’d met up with Butcher’s aunt, who was well into her years, but still liked to visit the beach. They’d sat on the sand and gotten their picture taken. Hughie hadn’t known Butcher framed it. As Hughie leafed through the files beneath the picture frames, mostly cases about fraud at hospitals or temp agencies, Hughie wondered why Butcher had his name on the box. Maybe it was because of the pictures? The box must’ve been for when they reorganized the office. Every May, M.M. had an annual deep clean of the office, no exceptions. Maybe this was Butcher’s reminder to take his stuff home before M.M. threw his shit out. Hughie didn’t know. He dug underneath the files and beneath another photo, this one from his academy days, and that’s when he spot it.

A gun.

It was small, even for a pistol, and a shiny silver. Hughie’s fingers trembled when he picked it up. He could tell it was loaded. Butcher had taught him how to shoot, even if he hadn’t liked it. They spent a few outings together at a range, until Hughie was passable enough to load and shoot. Hughie never thought he’d have a gun in his hands. Not like this.

He considered it, for longer than he should’ve. The grief roiled inside of him, the dread, the longing, the exhaustion. A gun. Was it a sign? His breathing shivered as he cocked it, feeling like he was one step closer, one moment further away from this. He rolled his wrist, pointed it where he shouldn’t have, did all the things no one should do. His heart stretched out into one thin line, fraying at the edges as he bit his lip and wondered and hated himself and cried, and then the strings of his heart broke and he couldn’t do it. He disarmed the gun and breathed out. Sweat and sticky tears littered his cheeks and he licked his dry lips, staring up at the wall across from his bed and breathed through the aching in his chest. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t live, but he also couldn’t do that, couldn’t die. 

He put the gun back in the box and hoped to god he’d never see it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi :)
> 
> so this fandom was built on tears, tragedy, and GAY SEX, and this chapter fulfills two-thirds of that promise and the next chapter technically fulfills that last bit? it's really not what you're thinking, but also what even defines sex anyway huh? what is a book? what constitutes art? what does it mean if a girl and i make eye contact? HUH?  
> anyway, time to start yearning in a delicate and feverish way as i am as contradictory as i am cruel ;)


	3. fuck, butcher, i'm begging you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie meets with a friend. Things don't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Hughie, I love him to bits and pieces, but he is NOT in the right headspace. Anyway, he gets himself into a sexual situation where he ends up safe wording. And then he walks home while being out of his fucking mind and does some awful things. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES!!! please stay safe, sane, and consensual, and be sure to take care of yourselves when that is not the case.

“You sure you don’t want to go out tonight?” Shawn offered. The two of them shouldered their respective bags as they headed for the elevator. Hughie fidgeted with the strap across his chest and rubbed at his eyes in exhaustion.

Hughie was thinner these days, almost skeletal at times. His hair had lost some of its sheen, greasy most days, and there were purple bruises under his eyes more often than not, his lips bitten and chapped. Anyone who saw Hughie knew he was fucked, but these days he could eat more meals than not and that was something rather than nothing.

“No,” Hughie smiled weakly at his friend, trying to straighten up but mostly failing. His shoulders ached from how hunched over he’d been. “I’ve got plans.”

“You do?” Shawn asked in surprise.

It wasn’t like Hughie was a complete hermit. Shawn and he had gone on a couple of bar crawls the past couple weeks, with Hughie drowning his sorrows in a truckload of alcohol. Shawn would sit with him and respectfully keep quiet about his own relationship until they were both wasted and Hughie couldn’t think anymore. When he wasn’t out with Shawn, he was over at Robin and Annie’s. Hughie only talked about Butcher once, at the start of their weekly dinners, where he begged them to not ask him about it. The two had complied, but Robin had seemed sad and angry at him for it, but they spent their Thursday’s having quiet movie nights or sharing stories over dinner. That was the only time Robin and Annie could make sure Hughie ate. That was the only time Hughie knew he’d end the night on a good note.

Every once in a while, M.M. would shoot him a text or a call. M.M. tried to keep it light and short. Hughie had asked him, a few times, if there had been any progress on Butcher’s case. The silence on the other end was telling enough. Hughie didn’t ask anymore. M.M. still called, and Hughie figured it was out of guilt or some kind of obligation for his late friend. Hughie couldn’t help but seethe at that, which was better than the self-loathing that hit him after those calls. 

Hughie let Frenchie go to voicemail.

Kimiko sent him a meme every once in a while, which was reassuring, but not enough to settle him. It was none of his fucking business, but it still made him worry. A lot of stuff made him worry. He still felt like Homelander was behind this, and he woke up from a cold sweat after having dreams of Homelander looming over him, his stupid fucking grin haunting Hughie again. Butcher used to keep those dreams at bay.

“I’m meeting an old friend,” Hughie explained as they got onto the elevator. Shawn pressed the button for the ground floor. Hughie zipped up his jacket. It was warm out, but Hughie still hadn’t shaken off the chill that followed him everywhere. He’d taken to wearing thick socks to the office in hopes of staying warm. It never quite worked out for him.

“That’s good.” Shawn dug his lighter out of his pocket. He had a habit of flicking it back and forth. The sound of the open and close was rhythmic and it was the only thing keeping Hughie’s heart from escaping his chest.

“Yeah, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Anyone I know?” Shawn wondered. “Or you’ve told me about?”

“Uh, just a college friend,” he said, covering his tracks. “Aren’t you seeing your girlfriend this weekend?”

The elevator dinged.

“That’s the plan,” Shawn grinned, sliding the lighter shut with a final click. He pointed a finger at Hughie as they made their way out of the building, “We should hang out this weekend, finally meet her. We take picnics sometimes at the park. That could be good.”

“I…” Hughie’s gut knotted. As much as he liked Shawn, he had difficulty seeing Robin and Annie happy together and he thought they were an amazing couple. He didn’t think he could meet someone new and pretend to be happy for a couple hours. It was exhausting enough pretending to be normal at work. “My dad needs help at the house this weekend. New fridge, bad back and stuff,” he lied.

Shawn nodded easily enough. “That’s fine, next time?”

“Yeah,” Hughie said, but it felt hollow to his own ears.

“Well, have fun tonight!” Shawn called, finally turning to enter the flow of traffic. Hughie replied a thank you, but it got lost in the crowd. Hughie watched Shawn with a sigh and then made his way home, nerves returning.

His dad was visiting Hughie’s grandmother this weekend, which meant there was no one to question Hughie being out so late. He kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, heading to the kitchen. He heated up some leftovers and ate them mechanically, trying not to think too hard of his plans for tonight or how his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. After he ate, he headed to the bathroom for a shower.

He rested his head against the pale tile, hot water cascading down his spine. He imagined hands, large, slightly scarred trailing down his spine, across his shoulders, smoothing across his chest, only to be pulled back against— Hughie thunked his head against the tile, eyes squeezed from the pain. His hands spasmed as he reached for the bar of soap. He rubbed his skin raw, wishing that his skin was still puckered so he could pick at _something_ , before washing away the suds, the memories, the anxieties. Cleaned.

Hughie managed to get himself dressed without too much distraction, with the anxiety a distant thing. There was a promise tonight, and it was the only thing that was keeping Hughie upright. He grabbed his wallet and keys and left the apartment with his thick coat on.

The streets were dark, the shadows underneath the city of lights stretched far and consumed him as he walked. The smell of weed drifted from one apartment building to the next. Hughie walked a couple blocks because he needed to drift awhile, needed to ache some more, before heading onto the subway. His leg jittered as he waited the few blocks, rubbing incessantly at the edge of his jaw. Fuck, _fuck_ , this was a bad idea, a horrible idea, but he needed to clear his head, he fucking needed it. And there was only one person alive who could help him. 

The walk to the club was a familiar one. It was not fucking normal to find a club familiar, but none of this was fucking normal anymore. Hughie felt the weight of the necklace on his neck like a too tight collar. He wanted to yank it off, but the feel of it was the only thing keeping Hughie on this path. He skipped the lines up front. He wasn’t in the mood to get wasted, he had a better high in mind.

Curious eyes watched him as he moved to the side road of the gigantic building. Hughie ignored them. Club music pulsated even from outside, brushing against Hughie in familiar overtures. He kicked at a scrunched up bottle of water that looked like piss and made his way to a familiar door.

He raised his fist to knock, but couldn’t do it. His hands were shaking so badly that a fist was impossible to hold. Hughie sighed and dropped his hands into his pockets. He debated whether or not to go back. He couldn’t be much of a participant if he could barely control his limbs. He felt for his phone in his left pocket. Hughie sucked in a deep breath.

_Fuck!_

He pulled out his phone and turned it on. He pressed on his call history button and over to voicemail. If there had been one thing, in these past two months, that kept Hughie grounded, it was this. He pressed the listen button and brought the phone to his ears, eyes falling shut as the words began to form in the air.

 _“Hey princess,_ ” Butcher said in the recording. Hughie imagined him smirking, the crinkling at the corners of his eyes, the half wild twist of his face. It brought a smile to his own face, a brief happiness in the dark. _“I’m at the shop but there’s not fucking Captain Crunch, I hope some Trix will fucking do, eh?”_

He couldn’t remember if he’d complained over the cereal or not. He hoped he hadn’t. 

He pressed replay on the recording, just to hear Butcher say, _“Hey princess,”_ hear the smoothness of his voice, like he and Hughie had been together for a lifetime. In a way they had. 

There were other recordings on his phone of course. Some from their painful beginnings, some from old videos secretly recorded by Robin at group outings. There were photos too. Hughie couldn’t stomach the photos. They were real, but nothing at all what Hughie wanted. His memory was already softening at the edges, dulling the shape of his jaw, losing the sound of his chuckle, but Hughie never wanted to forget the sound of _“Hey princess,”_ the sweetness they held for one another.

His phone screen switched to caller ID. Frenchie’s name and face appeared and Hughie watched the phone as it buzzed in his hands. The gnawing returned the longer he waited. He wanted it to stop, needed it to stop. Hughie hit the end call button, his breath escaping from his lungs. He stared at his blank screen again, fidgeting with his thoughts before he decided _Fuck, I need this_ and shoved his phone deep into his pockets and went into the back of the club.

 _Noir’s_ bouncer knew Hughie was coming, didn’t ask a single question as Hughie walked in, his dark eyes watching Hughie with vague interest or concern as Hughie dragged himself to the proper room. He was grateful for the low cut of his shirt as he unzipped his jacket; it made seeing the necklace easier. He knocked on the door and waited obediently for it to open up. 

Ezekiel stood on the other side. “Ah, Chamuel,” he greeted, “blessed are thy angels.” Ezekiel was as familiar to Hughie as his commute to work. White jeans, white button up, blonde hair slicked back. Along his ex-dom’s neck and arms were crucifixes and bands.

“Blessed are thy saviors,” Hughie returned, stepping inside.

The room was sparse, a muted red light aching above them and an empty white cot at the center. Sitting at the edge of the bed was Seth, Chad’s husband. When Hughie stepped inside and Ezekiel closed the door, Seth stood up to greet him.

“Hughie,” he said, voice dripping with concern. “I didn’t think you would show.”

Hughie looked down at his feet, “I came to please my masters.” He remembered that Seth liked to be called Master, or Sir if necessary.

“Hey,” Seth reached out to touch his shoulder. “We’re not in scene yet. Chad just stepped out for a moment.” That meant that Chad was still in his early moments of transitioning into his Ezekiel persona. Hughie glanced at the man in question and found him pouring himself a glass of holy wine. Hughie knew it was actually grape juice, but it helped Chad feel body and spirit. “I know we spoke over the phone about this, are you still sure? Are you in the right headspace?”

Hughie looked down at his feet, feeling the tremors along spine, the hunching of his back. If they were turning him away, Hughie didn’t know what he’d do. He needed his head to be quiet just for once. He couldn’t take it anymore. But he also knew why Seth was asking. The last time Hughie had been in a bad headspace with Chad, he’d broken his wrist. Neither wanted that to happen again. But… “I need this,” Hughie whispered.

Seth squeezed his arm briefly. “Okay, Hughie.” Seth reached up to undo his shirt, his hands familiar and slow. 

Hughie closed his eyes and let Seth undress him. His body shivered from the air along his naked skin. When Seth undressed him, it was clinical, detached. Hughie knew he got off on watching, so Hughie kept his breathing calm, barely reacted. Seth liked to wonder, to fantasize, to touch only when necessary. As he helped Hughie out of his boxers, leaving him in just his gold cross necklace, the one that Ezekial gave him years ago, he grazed the sensitive side of Hughie’s thigh before stepping away. Hughie opened his eyes and watched him recede to the other side of the room. It looked like tonight Seth would be watching more closely than usual. 

“Ezekiel, my prophet,” Seth wondered, as he sat down on the bench and giving Hughie a soft smile, “will you teach us Jeremiah 17:14?” 

Hughie sucked in a deep breath. They were going to go easy on him. He didn’t want that. There was only one way to clear his mind in a heartbeat. “But, my king,” Hughie proposed, “Hebrews 12:11 first?”

Seth looked at him concern, but Hughie ignored it. Ezekiel put down his goblet of wine and turned around to face him. “Yes, my Chamuel, I will give thee what you deserve. On the bed, sinful wretch.”

Hughie nodded and turned to the bed.

**_“C’mon, Hughie, don’t be like that…"_ **

With shaky legs he crawled atop it, settling himself so that his ass was in the air while his forearms and face rested on the blankets. He doubted he’d get hard tonight, but this wasn’t about sex, this was about getting off his mental train tracks.

He listened as Ezekial stepped towards the bed, his footsteps heavy in the air. “The sinful deserve damnation,” Ezekiel murmured. He heard the sound of Ezekial’s belt unbuckling and his whole body ached in wait.

 _Yes._ He needed the belt. That would do it. 

“Hebrews 12:11,” Ezekiel announced, “a wise passage indeed. _No discipline seems pleasant at the time_.” 

SMACK!

Hughie jolted as the weight of Ezekiel’s palm landed across his ass. Fuck! The force of it blistered across his senses.

“ _B_ _ut painful_ , it is,” Ezekiel finished. Another blow landed on his thigh, stinging and sharp. A slap to his right cheek, then his left. Tears sprung from Hughie’s eyes, trembling as the sensations burned and spread. Ezekiel repeated the line, another firm blow across his reddening ass. Fuck, fuck, why wasn’t he using the belt? Hughie could still think, he didn’t want to fucking _think_.

“Please,” he gasped. “More!”

**_“You always take it so nice, Hughie, don’t you? So good for me.”_ **

“More!” he cried. He didn’t want to _remember_.

“Insolent boy,” Ezekiel scolded, spanking him harder, fuck, “I should flog you for your tongue.”

“Yes, punish me, savior, bring me to the light,” Hughie gasped, pushing back into his palm.

Ezekiel smacked him again and it made Hughie’s cock twitch. “ _Later on, however,_ ” Ezekial continued, picking something up from the bed. Yes, yes, “ _it produces a harvest of righteousness._ ”

The belt cracked along his ass and Hughie moaned so loud it felt like he’d met god. The lash stung across his flesh. He couldn’t think, could barely gargle a moan as Ezekiel hit him again. His head vaulted into that empty place, overwhelmingly fast, like a switch turned off and his body went lax.

The belt swatted his ass, his thighs, even flicked against his sides. He pushed into each blow, wanting the pain to last, moaning into the rush of heat that blossomed, gorging himself on that nothingness that consumed him. He ached with it, cock stirring as Ezekial alternated between the belt and his open palm. 

“ _And peace for those who have been trained by it,_ ” Ezekiel finished, whipping him just as same. “Are you absolved of your sins, Chamuel?”

“I am never free of my wretchedness,” Chamuel gasped. “My prophet, save me from damnation!” His hips undulated under his own demons, his pale skin glistened with the holy spirit. Chamuel deserved his punishment, needed to repent for all.

“Only God will save your immortal soul,” he murmured as he broke the leather across his spine. Chamuel fell into the holy bed and ached with the glory of God. His body shivered and throbbed, his soul swelling with the bliss of punishment. Chamuel deserved this and was grateful for the peace of Ezekiel’s touch. Only a prophet could cure him of his wicked thoughts for a blissful moment. He would vow eternity for His will.

“Ezekial,” Master murmured from the other side of the room. “Teach him Jeremiah 17:14.”

“I take guidance from my apostles,” Ezekiel murmured, his palm pressing into the holy wounds along the angel’s thighs. “Jeremiah 17:14, a worthiness for the pure: _Heal me, Lord_.” 

The angel Chamuel whimpered as if the Heaven’s Gates were closing for him. 

Ezekiel ran a soothing hand along his spine. “ _And I will be healed,_ ” Ezekiel assured him. Chamuel’s body stiffened at the warmth from there, feeling another holy ghost. “Praise thee, my Chamuel.”

**_“So good for me, Hughie."_ **

“No.” Chamuel ached curling in on himself. “Please, Ezekiel, Hebrews 12:11, again.”

“I have not finished this verse, my angel,” Ezekiel said, his fingers running through Chamuel’s hair. “ _Save me and I will be saved_ , the good lord says.”

**_“My good boy, always and forever. I will take care of you.”_ **

“No,” he shook his head, tears coming to his face again. “Stop, please.”

Ezekiel leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his spine. “ _For you are the one I praise.”_

**_“My darling…"_ **

“Virgin Mary!” Hughie gasped, jerking away from Ezekiel’s touch, rolling to his side as his body seized. The clench in his gut returned, his thoughts rained heavy down on him, his emotions roiled like a thunder storm ready to strike. His body trembled as he whispered, “Virgin Mary, Virgin Mary,” over and over again, safe-wording in a way that made his tongue feel like venom. He curled into a ball, the only safety left being his own body. If he could dig into himself he would’ve.

“Hughie.” Seth appeared at his side. Hughie glanced up at him and then at Chad, who was standing in the far corner of the room, hand in his hair, the belt at the floor of his feet. “Are you alright?”

“I need to go,” Hughie decided, sitting up. His head swam with a headache.

Seth followed his motions. “Hughie, you’re not in any state to leave,” he said. “You need to come down properly. I know you safe-worded, but let us help you.”

Hughie had his boxers on backwards and barely had his socks on to match. His shirt kept falling from his fingers because he was shaking so hard. He knew what Seth was saying made sense. It would be better if he stayed. They would brew him some tea, wrap him in blankets, something comforting, but it--it--

“Hughie,” Chad rasped, voice broken. “Please, let us.”

“I--” Hughie managed to get his shirt and shoes on. He tugged the cross off his neck. “It’s not safe. I’m not--you’re not--”

“Let us call someone who is safe,” Seth offered, soothingly.

Hughie swallowed around his own scream. He rubbed at his eyes because he couldn’t see with all the tears and couldn’t bear to look at either of them. “You can’t, there isn’t--he’s--” Hughie sucked in a deep breath and stood up straight. As soon as he did, it felt like a gust of wind had blasted him and he was ready to fall again. “I need to go.”

He couldn’t hear whatever Seth or Chad said. His eyes glazed over as he stumbled down the hallway and out of _Noir_ , head bursting at the seams as the world crashed around him like broken glass. 

* * *

By the time he walked home, he was chilled to bone. It was early May, but his entire nervous system was fucked. His head was clear, but in that gauzy sort of way that came after a bad trip. He could think, but his hands were still shaking. He needed to sleep. Hopefully that would keep him together. He’d walked the whole way back, absolutely trashed for the first few blocks and then depressed for the next, until he’d reached the aching numb feeling again when he got home. Hughie would need to text Chad and Seth later, tell them that he got home and that he was alright. Tell them that it really wasn’t their fault, Hughie had fucked up.

When he got to his apartment building, he found Frenchie sitting on the stoop. Frenchie stood up when he saw him. “Hughie!” Frenchie cried. “What were you doing out so late? And at _Noir_? Nothing from that place can help you my petite--”

“Do you have a tracker on me?” Hughie demanded, coming to a stop before him.

“I--well…” Frenchie fumbled with his words. “M.M. and I thought it might be best after--”

Hughie shuffled past him. “Fuck you guys.”

“Wait, wait!” Frenchie cried, reaching out to touch Hughie. He flinched at the gesture and Frenchie pulled back in concern. “Mon fraise, why have you not returned my calls?”

“You cheated on Kimiko!” Hughie snarled. “Fuck you man!”

Hughie buzzed into his building. Frenchie followed after him. “Please, Hughie, wait, I have to tell you something. I can’t do this anymore if you won’t speak to me. It’s hard enough without Butcher, I can’t have you angry with me about something I didn’t do.”

Hughie scoffed. “So now you’re telling me you _didn’t_ cheat? What kind of stupid fucking game are you playing?”

“We have been hiding something from you!” Frenchie confessed. “About Butcher.”

Hughie stilled. His heart dropped out of his chest. “What?” he whispered. He turned to Frenchie. “What aren’t you telling me? Is it Homelander?”

“M.M. didn’t want me to tell you,” Frenchie told him, “because it would compromise the mission. But I think you deserve to know, Hughie. Life hasn’t been sweet to you, mon fraise, and you have pulled away. Merde, I told M.M. I would only follow along if it meant Butcher could come home, but it is like there is no home left.” Frenchie had tears in his eyes.

“Is it Homelander?” Hughie repeated, voice shaking. “Did Homelander kill Butcher?”

“Butcher isn’t dead,” Frenchie confessed.

Hughie felt like a bag of crushed pretzels. “I--” He blinked against his own tears. “What?” The fuck? What the fucking, fuck, fuck--

Frenchie looked around the hallway and grabbed his arm, pulling him towards his apartment. “It isn’t safe out here. I do not know if you are being followed.”

“He’s...Butcher’s?” Hughie choked on his own words as they entered his apartment. His lungs began to fill with air. “At the office,” Hughie cried, “was he there?”

“Yes, but I told him not to come,” Frenchie said as he closed the door. “It was too painful. For all of us.”

“How?” Hughie gasped. “I heard--on the phone--the remains.” Annie had checked for him. She said…had she known? Did Robin? “Does everyone know but me?”

“Just M.M., Kimiko, and I,” Frenchie told him.

“Why wasn’t I told?” he demanded. “Don’t I deserve to know?” 

“We had to make it look real.” Frenchie began to pace, his hands waving as he explained. “There were eyes, all over us. Stormfront wanted her revenge on Butcher. We knew there was a bomb at the apartment.” The wind knocked out of Hughie and he sat down on his bed. There had been a bomb? In their apartment? While Hughie was there? “Butcher disabled it, but then we realized it would be better to set it off.” 

“People could’ve been hurt,” Hughie snapped. “I could’ve been hurt!”

“We did it when less people were around,” Frenchie said. “You weren’t supposed to be home.”

“So you let him _die_ in front of me?” Hughie cried. “What the fuck, Frenchie! WHY?”

“Stormfront,” Frenchie explained. “She is evil incarnate. A Nazi _bitch_.” Frenchie spat. “She wants revenge on Butcher, this is the only way to take her down. Butcher said it would take him a month, but it’s been two. You can’t go on like this, I’ve seen it, I can’t go on like this, none of us can.”

“Where is he,” Hughie demanded, voice dangerous. “Frenchie.”

“Florida, undercover. I can get you the burner number he’s using. I think he’s losing himself down there,” Frenchie admitted and then told him the number. “If you called, he might come home sooner. I want this to be _over_ with. I’m going out of my mind with the guilt.”

“Where in Florida?”

“Hughie, you cannot go to him,” Frenchie said. “It would be too dangerous.”

Hughie lunged from the bed and shoved Frenchie against the wall. “Where is he!” he screamed. Frenchie looked like he was about to shit his pants. 

“Hughie--” Frenchie gasped, struggling in his hold. Any other time Frenchie would be able to escape, but Hughie was angry and righteous and full of too many fucked up emotions to let this go.

“Tell me right now Frenchie or I’ll kill you myself!”

“Hughie, you wouldn’t--”

“You just told me my boyfriend faked his death and is in Florida, fucking tell me!”

“Jacksonville, but Hughie, he--” 

Hughie smashed his head into Frenchie’s. And when that wasn’t enough pain, he punched him, and then he threw Frenchie to the ground, tasting blood and anger and agony. He wanted to take out all the fucking pain on Frenchie, on something, on himself, but he didn't raise his fist again. His chest rattled as he blinked at his childhood room. He dug his hands into his coat pockets, pulling out his phone. He didn’t want to leave it behind, it had everything that kept him grounded, but Frenchie said he could track him, and Hughie wasn’t going to let that be the fucking case. He put his phone on his dresser and walked to the bed, stepping over Frenchie's prone form. His shirt felt soaked through with sweat, his entire body buzzing with needles. He reached underneath his bed for the box hidden away.

Then he pulled out the gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKSKSKSKSK!!! BUTCHEEEERRR!!
> 
> also this was the first time I wrote a dom-sub scene that wasn't actually like sexy and about getting off/about intimacy? idk, it was kinda hot but mostly strange to write. more importantly, i am CACKLING over the DRAMA!!!


	4. fuck, butcher, where are you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughie goes down to Florida. 
> 
> featuring bleach, Gecko, and sushi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me realizing the structure of each chapter is different and inconsistent and not doing anything about it

_“Fuck, fuck, uh--” his eyes slipped shut as Butcher fucked him, rough and perfect, his hands burning on his hips, squeezing so tight he could see stars. Hughie’s hand bunched up in the bedsheets, cheek rubbing roughly against the mattress, as Butcher kept hitting that one spot inside of him._

_“That’s it,” Butcher breathed out, speeding up, “take it, fucking take it, Hughie.”_

_Hughie gasped as Butcher raised one of his legs higher, tearing him apart as he dove into him. Fuck, this was the second time today. Hughie felt strung tight and molten hot, completely at ease and turned on as Butcher fucked him. He reached down, squeezing his dick, wincing at how painfully hard he was, and barely getting a stroke in before he was cumming all over his fingers with a, “Oh fuck--”_

_Butcher kept on going, not letting up as he kept rubbing at his prostate, balls slapping the back of Hughie’s thighs, these dark groans getting lower and lower until Butcher pushed in one final time and came, his forehead knocking against Hughie’s sweaty one as he breathed through it. Hughie felt it inside him, squirmed away and wanted to keep Butcher in at the same time. Butcher’s fingers slowly inched from his hips to Hughie’s cock, rubbing at him even though he was limp. Hughie whimpered as he dick twitched way too soon, and batted Butcher’s fingers away._

_Hughie stretched slightly, as good as he could with Butcher still in him and atop of him, and the action must’ve tightened around Butcher’s sensitive cock because he gave a similar groan. Hughie chuckled and went lax against the bed, wrapping Butcher into his arms._

_Butcher went down easily enough, sucking at the marks he’d already left on Hughie’s neck, on his collarbone, anywhere his mouth could reach._

_“You know,” Hughie murmured, trailing his fingers along the line of Butcher’s shoulders, “the sushi’s coming in a bit.”_

_“So?” Butcher murmured into his skin. Then he added teeth, and fuck, Hughie couldn’t be getting hard so soon._

_“We can’t keep scaring the delivery dudes,” Hughie reminded him. They’d already freaked out their pizza guy, he wasn’t about to freak out the sushi place._

_“If you’re thinking this clearly, then I didn’t fuck you hard enough,” Butcher decided, sitting up slightly, which made Hughie very aware of his cock still in him._

_“It was a very nice fuck,” Hughie told him._

_“Next time,” Butcher promised, “I’m going to bend you so that you can almost suck your own cock as well as you suck mine and I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll cum all over that pretty face of yours.”_

_It wasn’t remotely possible, but Hughie couldn’t help the noise of interest that spilled from his lips at the idea Butcher was describing._

* * *

Hughie’s knuckles throbbed from punching Frenchie and his forehead felt tender from smacking it and his backside and knees ached from whatever bullshit he’d gotten into earlier tonight and so his body was a fucking nightmare right now. His ears rang with all sort of information jesus _fuck_ what the fuck man, but he already had a plan forming in his head. The night dragged on its party haze, drunken idiots stumbling through the streets, giggling at the bright lights, while Hughie felt frantic and raw as he headed for the nearest ATM. He left his phone behind, good, except not good if his dad called, but good because they couldn’t track him, not right away. He withdrew as much money as he was allowed, around a thousand dollars, and he wanted to burn it because he was feeling destructive. He shoved some of it in his wallet, some in his shitty fucking coat, and some more in his shoes, fucking hell, and then he kept walking because his whole body felt strung up and eaten alive.

Second thing he did was throw up in an alley. He wasn’t sure which one or how long he’d leaned against a dumpster, dry heaving and wiping at the tears, but by the time he was awake again, he was three blocks over. His stomach clenched fitfully, but there was nothing else for him to lose, but maybe a few more tears. If Robin were here she’d smack him for being an idiot, which is why she wasn’t here right now. Annie too.

He wasn’t sure if it was such a smart idea to have walked the entire way, but it wouldn’t fucking matter once he got done with all of the fucking bullshit. 

Penn Station was an empty husk and the people walking about looked as crazed as Hughie felt. This place was a fucking mirror and he didn’t have enough energy to think about that for too long. He went over to a kiosk and bought himself a ticket for Florida, hands shaking as he fed the machine his money. The ticket felt like a key in his hands. He stopped by an always open shop and bought himself a water, a couple of snacks, and a pair of sunglasses that he intended to wear for the next several hours. There was no point trying to hide from the cameras, not from M.M. and Frenchie, but he could slow them down. He had a couple of hours ahead of those fuckers.

Fucking hell they fucking lied to his fucking face, what kind of stupid fucking bullshit clusterfuck piece of shit--

Hughie got onto the train at four-thirty-seven in the morning. He wasn’t sure how he got through with the gun, but everyone was out of it today. He found a relatively empty area and squeezed himself into the corner. He tucked the shades over his face and closed his eyes, willing his feverish self to sleep, but it felt fitful more than anything else.

A handful of hours later, not enough, not nearly enough for this shitshow, and Hughie was awake again, glaring at the magazine holder in front of his seat and squinting against the bright light from outside. The train had a few more people in his section now that they were picking up commuters or early travelers from big cities. He uncapped his bottle of water and drank from it slowly, thinking that each gulp of water was another problem solved, even when it wasn’t. His back was knotted to hell and back.

Why didn’t Butcher fucking tell him? Did he think Hughie couldn’t handle it? Did he think Hughie would stop him? Of course he fucking would, that’s what perfectly sensible fucking people did, but nothing about Butcher was fucking sensible. What the fuck could Butcher have gotten into that required faking his own death? 

And Hughie didn’t want to consider the alternative. That Butcher _wanted_ to leave. The idea of that being the case made his mouth so bitter he almost gagged, his nails digging into his palms so hard they almost bled. The self-hatred burnt into something outer, readying his throbbing knuckles to slam into Butcher’s beautiful fucking face instead of Hughie’s battered soul.

He got off the train early. Frenchie and the others would expect him to get off in Florida, where Butcher was. No. Fuck that. He got off at Raleigh, almost tempted to get off in Hamlet for the fucking absurdist joke, and walked out of the glass building. He found out that there was a car rental a ten minute block away and went there next. He stopped and got a burner phone along the way, ripping the phone out of the stupid plastic and plugging in the number Frenchie had given him into the contacts. The rental agency sniffed at the sight of him, but they gave him a car so whatever, he didn’t give a fucking shit what normal people thought. He snagged the keys to the cheapest car they had and got onto the road, his fingers tight on the steering wheel and the radio blasting some kind of pop nonsense that was good enough that it kept his chest even and not crackling like a storm.

For the two hours he drove through South Carolina, he thought of nothing but what he was going to say or do the moment he saw Butcher. He imagined the two of them sitting down in a coffee shop and laying out their problems in calm voices, breaking up much like how he and Robin had ended. He imagined feverishly making out under fireworks and love confessions and some other bullshit. He imagined socking Butcher in the middle of a crowded street and kissing him in the next. He imagined never finding Butcher at all and having to crawl himself back to his miserable life in New York, knowing that Butcher didn’t want him. He imagined faking his own death in front of Butcher just to spite him. He imagined Butcher a broken husk of a man. He imagined himself smiling. None of it sounded right.

He pulled to the side of the highway and slept for another three hours.

His snack wrappers scattered at his feet. He pulled back on the highway, chugging the energy drink he bought a while back. He made it this fucking far, he needed to keep going. His neck twinged every time he glanced in the side mirrors and he could already taste the sweet relief of a good night’s sleep heavy on his tongue and absolutely wasted over it all. He needed a drink, but he had to keep driving, he remembered now why he got off the train: to stop himself from spiraling even further, this time with whiskey breath.

A couple hours later he landed in Hinesville Georgia. He stopped by a Target, his eyes red at this point and his stomach cinching from the hunger. He grabbed a couple of frozen meals, a handful of chips, another energy drink, a six pack of fucking Frescas, and made his way over to the clothes. He snagged himself a pair of green cargo shorts, a horrendous pink tropical shirt, and a pair of cowboy boots because fuck all. Then he went over to the beauty section and then checked out. The cashier barely gave him a second glance as he paid for all his shit in cash and hobbled his way out of the store.

He got himself a motel near the highway, only planning on staying the night. He was barely in the crap room before he was kicking off his shoes and flinging his jacket off. He grabbed the plastic bag of supplies and managed to get himself into the bathroom without keeling over. He tugged off his shirt and went about pulling the box of hair dye from the bag.

Rule number one of going on the fucking lamb: disguises were fucking key. 

Florida was a stupid fucking obnoxious place of America, the unwanted dick state and Hughie planned on fitting right in. If they were expecting a lanky comic-book fucker then he’d give them a fucking Brad of a Hughie. He poured the powdery contents into the liquid container and shook the little bottle for a minute, the plastic gloves sliding up and down his fingers. When he began applying the bleach to his head, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, at the pale, almost trepid skin and the way his bones were more obvious than they had before. Hughie looked away and went back to bleaching his hair. Hughie had light brown hair, but he planned on making it “fuck you” blonde.

He wrapped the plastic bag over his head--he’d seen it in TikToks so it must’ve worked--and went to heat up dinner. He ate the half-soggy shepherd's pie and stared blankly at the wall in front of him. Tears threatened to spill over his eyes, exhausted from the drive, from being awake for so long, for living in whatever fucking time this was, but he blinked and kept eating. When the time was up he crawled into the shower and felt nothing. Too hot and too cold at the same time, it meant nothing to him as he rinsed out the bleach.

When he was done with that, he crawled into bed and shut his eyes at last.

* * *

_Hughie was brave enough to get the take out, bringing the bag into the bedroom. Any other day, Butcher would tell him to eat in the kitchen, no crumbs allowed in bed, but Hughie must’ve taken his fat cock well enough to get him to forget that rule._

_Butcher was laid up in bed, had managed to wrap some blankets around himself in a cocoon. Thankfully, Hughie could still see the scarred and tanned skin of his chest, so inviting under the lights of their bedroom. The older man watched Hughie enter the bedroom with dark eyes, spreading his legs and patting the space between them. Clearly he wanted Hughie there, which Hughie wasn’t opposed to at all. But first._

_Hughie placed the bag of take out by Butcher’s foot. Then he took off the shirt and boxers he had to put on for the delivery guy. Butcher groaned at the sight of him. “You sure we need to eat?” he asked._

_“No fucking until I get my crab rolls,” Hughie told him, his knees sinking into the mattress as he crawled further onto bed. Butcher watched him the entire time, although his eyes weren’t drawn to Hughie’s face. Hughie kissed his cheek briefly before turning around to settle against Butcher’s chest. The man in question sighed as Hughie got comfortable in his arms. His arm wrapped possessively around his abs, pulling him in even closer. Hughie let out a contented sigh as Butcher nosed at his neck and the bag of food opened._

_Sushi wasn’t Butcher’s favorite, but he could appreciate a California roll. Hughie liked California rolls, tuna rolls, and gyoza. Hughie popped open their boxes and passed one to Butcher. Hughie picked up a thing of gyoza and ate it, trying not to think about how earlier this evening Hughie had sucked his fingers and fucked himself on them while Butcher was trapped in his pants._

_Butcher must’ve been remembering as well because he rubbed his thumb against Hughie’s bottom lip, the rest of his palm stretched across his jaw. Hughie finished chewing and dared a little lick against his thumb. Butcher chuckled and brought one of his California rolls to Hughie’s lips, muttering, “I need to stop callin' you princess, clearly you're a brat.”_

_Hughie chose to ignore it. Butcher kept feeding him California rolls and then the tuna rolls, sometimes eating one himself, and Hughie melted into the embrace, into being taken care of, into Butcher. When he got to the gyoza, Hughie couldn’t help but break their easy silence, wondering,_

_“Do you think you would’ve ever had this again?”_

_Butcher barely paused in his motions of eating and feeding, asking, “Had what again?” around a roll._

_“This,” Hughie gestured around them, at their bodies, the food, the blanket nest. “Comfort. Sharing it, with someone, thinking it was normal?”_

_This time Butcher did pause. Hughie felt his chest shift behind him, at the uneven breath that followed. “No,” he admitted. “There wasn’t anything left of me after Becca.”_

_Hughie remembered the stories Butcher had shared with him of his life with Becca, of his life without her._

_“Does that worry you?” Butcher asked quietly._

_It was a good question. Their first few months together, they’d been fucking without much thought, trying to find some kind of release in a shitty world. And then there’d been the whole Homelander-nightmare, when Hughie couldn’t move forward until Butcher admitted that there was something there. Butcher had been adamant in seeing nothing between them, when it was so obvious there_ **_was_ ** _something._

_“Honestly?” Hughie said. “What worries me is that I haven’t felt like this before either.”_

_“Not even with Robin?”_

_“Yeah.” Hughie rolled slightly to his side, so he could press his cheek against Butcher’s chest. “When we were together, it was…nice. Same with Chad and the others, but I’ve never… It never felt as real--as nice--as this. Is that crazy?” He glanced up at Butcher, feeling more naked than he had before, and then couldn’t look away from the small smile gracing Butcher’s lips._

_“‘s not crazy,” Butcher told him. “I feel it too.”_

* * *

Seven A.M.

Hughie chugged another cup of shitty coffee from the main office. Some stupid teenager calling himself Gecko let Hughie steal the computer after he handed over a twenty. The computer was a piece of shit and Hughie had half a mind to fix it, but he spent more of that time searching as much as he fucking could about whoever the fuck Stormfront was.

 _Nazi bitch_ wasn’t much help, but Hughie didn’t doubt the truth behind it either.

Instead, he found images of the half-shaved woman from the funeral that made Hughie want to claw her eyes out and jump back in time. Once all of this fucking shit was over--however that fucking ended--Hughie was going to build a time machine and punch the fuck out of Stormfront, then Butcher, and then probably Homelander or baby Hitler, whichever came first.

She was involved in private healthcare because of course she was. God forbid anyone have universal health care, this bitch was responsible for shutting down numerous reform bills and free clinics in the Florida area, which is _definitely_ what Spring Break Central needed. Filthy rich and filthy too. Hughie scoffed but couldn’t figure out the connection between Stormfront and Butcher. Whatever it was, it was messy enough to require explosions. Hughie figured it related to drugs, but he couldn’t be sure from a few pointed Google searches. He’d need to find out for himself.

When he exhausted all the articles he could find on Stormfront, he went about looking up the map to Florida and looking for a motel to set up shop in while he hunted Butcher down. When he was done with that, he stole another cup of coffee from Gecko and then went back to his room, eating the other frozen dinner he’d bought and gathering all his shit together.

Getting back on the road seemed to ignite something in Hughie, or it was the Billy Joel marathon that was playing on the radio. Either way, he spent the next couple of hours screaming at the top of his lungs down the highway, foot heavy on the gas, his shoulders strung tight, and ready to burn the world alive if any stupid fuck tried to cut in his lane. Florida was as shitty as he expected, but his bleached hair and shitty clothes fit right in. Jesus fucking Christ, Hughie was much better at this than he should’ve been.

He got a motel on the outskirts of Jacksonville, a slightly shady part of town, but what he could afford with the cash-only policy he was currently involved in. He dropped whatever little shit he had in his room, turned on the light for when he got back, and drove back into the city, heading for the downtown offices of Sage Grove Medical Centers, where Stormfront was currently working out of with her fellow hell spawns. Butcher probably had eyes on her at all times, but he was bound to be watching in person because there was a major medical conference going on right now. Sage Grove was working on some kind of cancer cure that showed preliminary successes, whatever the fuck that meant.

Hughie parked his car three blocks away from the center and walked the rest of the way, shades heavy on his face. Floridians walked around in a mix of beach clothes, business suits, and sweaters for some god awful reason. A block away, Hughie spotted a two-story Barnes and Nobles and grinned, heading inside. He snagged a book of French cuisine and settled himself at a table on the upper floor in the cafe, opening the book to a page on souffles and instead staring outside the windows. The gun settled neatly at the center of his back, but he paid it no mind. It was getting weirdly easy to carry a gun, which was disturbing for so many reasons. He had a pretty good vantage point although Butcher, if he was watching, would probably have a better one. Hughie’s best bet was that Butcher would walk around the perimeter of the building or was sneaking his way in or out and Hughie could spot him in the crossfire. He could find Butcher anywhere, except for in a pile of rubble. 

Hughie clenched his eyes shut and tried to ignore the headache bursting along his temple. Even though Butcher wasn’t fucking dead anymore, the sight of the explosion…it was still-- He wished he could bleach his brain much like he’d done his hair. 

What kind of fuck let his S.O. think he was dead? Let him see him explode? Hughie’s life couldn’t be a soap drama, that was too messed up, but he guessed it was better than the dramedy that had been following him the past couple of months. Butcher must’ve known Hughie would come home that day, right? And fucking hell, Hughie had left all sort of great stuff at Butcher’s place. His thumb drive with all the photos from their vacations, his maroon doc martens that he’d worn all through college, his favorite fucking coat that was perfect for any weather and let him keep his fucking prized possessions on the inside of the jacket. Jesus fuck the _jacket_. Hughie sucked in a deep breath and managed to read an entire recipe before he settled again.

He watched the streets, but nothing stood out in particular for him. A couple flower delivery guys stopped by. Stormfront had several men in her inner circle and Hughie gathered them to be any of the bigwigs in Gucci suits or whatever. You could tell who was an entitled prick by the class ring on their pinkie, their ring fingers now too fat from all the money they stole from the lower class. Stormfront had been in a slew of controversies in her earlier years, often making homophobic, transphobic, racist, ableist, islamaphobic, and any other horrible sludge entitled people managed to fling at the rest of us. A decade ago, she’d done a quick one-eighty and built a name for herself as being very liberal, except for in any of her actual policies as CEO of Sage Grove. Hughie had an inkling that the half shave was very much strategic and that everything about her was a persona and a clusterfuck at heart.

How did Butcher know her? It had to be some kind of case. It had to be personal, but Hughie wasn’t sure which part of his personal life had been the cause this time. Obviously it wasn’t Hughie because he’d had no connections to the bitch until two months ago when she “killed” his boyfriend. Maybe it was Lenny? Hughie doubted it, but then again, Lenny hadn’t been at the funeral. Was it another Becca problem? Ghosts from his past as a detective? He really couldn’t be sure and it wasn’t like Butcher had told Hughie all of his dark history secrets. He’d done plenty of explaining for most of it during their time together, in particular his time on the force and as a P.I. They both were reluctant to discuss Becca, but there had been nights when they were pressed close to one another, Butcher resting against Hughie’s chest when he’d whisper secrets about the dark period, or when they were lazing on the couch on Sunday afternoons and Butcher would tell him a story about Becca and their first couple of months of marriage. Those had been good stories, painful stories, well-listened to stories.

Hughie had told him about Chad, in detail, and he’d told him about college and about Robin and about his mom and he’d done just as much of that kind of sharing as _The best summer afternoon I had was when my friends and I_ kind of stories. He’d told Butcher things he hadn’t even told Robin and things he certainly had never spoken out loud. He thought they’d been the end of the fucking line for one another.

Hughie guessed they were more of a ring dial than anything else.

Three cups of coffee, a caprese panini, a raspberry danish, fifteen French recipes later and there hadn’t been a sign of Butcher. The sun was setting, the store clearing out, and Hughie was tired again. He’d find Butcher tomorrow. He remembered him telling Hughie once that he always got a room at the Comfort Inn when he was out of town because he preferred their shitty waffles to the Best Western’s. There were only a handful in the area and Hughie could find Butcher within a couple of days with enough willpower. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he found the fucker, but he’d find him.

The drive back had him wavering on the road. The lights of this city were different from New York’s. Everywhere was lit but not as bright, not as flashy, he could almost sleep under the fluorescent gaze. The gun shined underneath passing lamplights, the handle peeking out from the pocket of his coat. He had another shitty frozen meal waiting for him. Tomorrow he’d get himself a pizza or maybe a gyro, who knew. He’d watch Sage Grove, maybe try to tail Stormfront as if that was a thing Hughie could do, or go looking for Butcher again. He said his best thinking and work happened on piers or at parks. He could try shit like that, who the fuck knew. 

He got out of his car and stretched, cracking his neck as he locked the car. He pulled out the swipe card and moved to his room on the first floor. The room was dark and it made the hairs at the back of his neck raise. _Shit._ He sucked in a deep breath but it did fuck all to calm his stupid fucking nerves.

Hughie opened the door and stepped inside the darkness. He turned to the light switch and flicked it, still facing the door, not ready to face the inevitable. He locked the door, his right hand deep in his pocket. His grip tightened around the base of the gun and breathed slowly, evenly, trying not to give himself away. _In and out, one-two, in and out._

“Hughie,” said a voice from the bed.

He pulled the gun and turned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so originally this chapter was super filler and it was only the montage sequence of Hughie going down to Florida and then i sat down tonight and added this slightly sexy and very domestic flashback sequence that completely changes the vibe but WHATEVER!!! yall deserve some JUICE.
> 
> anyway, so i wrote this and then i wrote chapter seven and then i went on a night walk with a nice boy around campus and then i came back here and edited this monstrosity and now i just wanna write porn about hughie sitting on butcher's fat dick (this is because i've been reading way too much dcu fanfics so i can stay in the "gritty superhero" mindset sksks)
> 
> anyway, i hope everyone has doing well and i'm hoping that i can finish up this fantastic story soon. 
> 
> oh also NEXT CHAPTER!!! IS!!! SOMETHING!!!


	5. fuck, butcher, i can’t believe you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is a ghost in hughie's motel room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!! it's been a while, but uh, i've been sitting on this chapter for WEEKS now. i think my brain has restarted enough to finish this fic. i even went through all my inbox and did a little picture for you all

“Put the gun down.”

His fingers shook around the trigger, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes blistering with unshed tears as he looked at the fucking ghost.

Butcher was…not himself. He was seated at the edge of the bed, looking like he was ready to get up and knock the gun out of his hand in ten seconds if Hughie didn’t lower his aim. He was wearing the dumbest blue and red velvet track suit he’d ever seen. He was still the same hulking man that Hughie had fallen in love with, the same dark brown eyes that could destroy souls, the same thick brows with that little scar. But he’d done something so horrible with his appearance that Hughie was almost convinced that Butcher really had died in that explosion and had been replaced with a clone.

How else could he explain the buzzcut and the lack of beard?

“Hughie,” Butcher said, voice smooth--how could it be so fucking smooth in time like this--and eyes dark as he watched him. “I know the safety’s on, you can put the gun down.”

Hughie’s arm wavered, but he didn’t move, gaping at the man before him.

Butcher seemed to have had enough because he stood up and reached for the gun. “Hughie--”

Hughie changed his grip on the gun, hand now on the barrel, and went to whack the Butcher-clone with it. Butcher stopped Hughie midair, twisted his grip and dislodged the gun from Hughie’s hand, and tossed it onto the chair beside the bed. And now they stood before each other, staring at the dark bags under the others’ eyes, breathing the same air.

Alive.

“You cut your hair,” he whispered. 

Butcher’s face softened. “You bleached yours,” Butcher returned.

Hughie’s anger rushed to his cheeks, his eyes flashing as he shouted, “You cut your hair! And your beard!” Then he swung his fist.

Butcher took a step back, raising his hands, “Listen, it’ll grow back, I promise--”

“You cut your hair after you blew yourself up!” Hughie screamed. “You blew yourself up! In front of me!”

“You weren’t supposed to be home that day,” Butcher reasoned.

“So you rather I’d find out later that night?” Hughie whacked him again, this time landing on his chest. “After work? With all the fucking groceries and all excited to watch fucking movies with you. Are you fucking kidding me? You wanted me to find out _after_ you were dead?”

“I didn’t want you to see it at all,” Butcher said. “I didn’t want to scare you any more than--”

“ _You_ called _me_!” he screamed. “You fucking called me, Butcher. I could’ve been in the apartment already, I could’ve been--but then you, you let me think--”

“Hughie,” Butcher tried to reason, his hands coming up to rest on either of Hughie’s shoulders, “I know I shouldn’t have called.” Hughie jerked out of his grip. “I thought--”

“You let me think you were _dead_ ,” he hissed, hitting him again. Butcher just took it. Let him bang his shaking fists against his chest like he was a wall of brick and not a man. “You blew up our place, our fucking home, Butcher, you fucking blew it up and all my stuff--you destroyed my favorite jacket!”

“Hughie--” 

“My jacket, Butcher! And you let me believe, for the past two fucking months, that you were dead!”

“Hughie, I swear, I had a good reason--”

“I had to go to your funeral! Do you know what that fucking felt like?” he roared. “Why the fuck would you do that to me?!”

“I was trying to fucking protect you!” Butcher shouted. “I did what I had to fucking do. It was the only way to keep you bloody safe!”

“And then you gave me that gun?” Hughie returned, tears burning. “What did you think I was going to do with it?”

“Protect yourself. From Stormfront, if she ever came after you.”

Hughie laughed, bitter and cruel. “That’s not what I was going to do with it.”

Butcher froze. 

He couldn’t dwell on it. “Why couldn’t I have known?” Hughie begged. “You let M.M., Frenchie, Kimiko--I bet Lenny fucking knew, but I didn’t. I was the last to fucking know. You didn’t fucking tell me! I grieved you, Butcher, I haven’t slept in months, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep--why didn’t I get to know? Why?”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Butcher choked out and Hughie could hear the regret and the guilt and it made him so fucking furious. Butcher was the asshole here, he didn’t get to feel sorry over this.

“Of course I fucking worried!” Hughie screamed and then yanked Butcher in by the stupid fucking velvet track suit. “Are you fucking kidding me? You fucking--” Hughie yanked him down by his stupid fucking ears because his stupid fucking hair was gone, and mashed their stupid fucking lips together like he was trying to tear Butcher apart with his teeth.

Angry and grieving and overwhelming tears fell down his face as they kissed and bit and clung to each other. Butcher made these broken noises as Hughie’s tongue beat the fuck out of Butcher as Hughie started clawing at the awful velvet tracksuit. Hughie felt his anger sizzling and warping into something darker and more dangerous. Butcher gasped when Hughie moved from his mouth to his neck, biting at the skin of his throat.

“Hughie--” Butcher gasped.

“Shut up,” he growled, sucking hard and pulling down the zipper of Butcher’s jacket. “Shut up, shut up.” Butcher was trying to touch him back, hands eager on Hughie’s hips, his sides, but Hughie didn’t care, moving from his neck to his collarbone, needing to find every inch of Butcher’s skin and mark it. Mark it as his. They crowded towards the bed. “Did you bring lube?” he asked.

“Pocket.” Butcher made a choked off noise when Hughie found it in his pants pocket, his touch close to Butcher’s cock. He wanted to sit on it, remember how thick it was in his ass, or choke on it, be reminded of Butcher and the burning scrape of him, but he didn’t want it. He gripped the tube of lube in his hands and pulled back.

“Did you think we were going to have happy reunion sex?” Hughie asked, voice dark, as he pushed Butcher back onto the bed. Butcher landed with a thud, his jacket torn off, the wife beater underneath skewed, his pants tented. The sight of Butcher hard in his pants made Hughie want to tear him limb by limb. “Did you think I’d cum weeping on your dick? Tears of fucking joy?”

“I thought--” Butcher swallowed at the angry sight of Hughie leaning over him. Hughie unbuttoned his shorts and Butcher’s eyes were drawn to the movement. 

“Roll over,” Hughie spat, almost shaking with it. Butcher lowered his gaze and did as Hughie wanted, knees going underneath him as he got onto all fours. When Hughie topped in the past, it wasn’t…it wasn’t like this. But he couldn’t think of anything else. He couldn’t look at Butcher, not when the sight of his brown eyes made Hughie want to deck him, but he needed to feel him, needed to know he was real, even in his anger.

Hughie yanked Butcher’s pants down, dragging his boxers with them. The last time they’d fucked like this, it had been over the kitchen table. The last time they’d fucked…Hughie still couldn’t remember when or how good it had been or who was doing what. 

If Hughie was in Butcher’s position, he’d be getting his ass spanked raw or his hole stuffed with whatever plug Butcher wanted to see him gaping with or with Butcher’s fat cock. But Hughie wasn’t on his knees for Butcher right now. 

He opened the bottle of lube and slicked his fingers up. Rubbing his finger briefly over Butcher’s rim before pressing one finger, then two in. Butcher liked it efficient and Hughie was being kind with doing it one finger at a time with how quick his control was slipping. If Hughie was an ounce crueler, he’d have three fingers shoved in at once, barely any lube to get his tight ass loose.

Butcher’s thighs trembled as Hughie fucked him with his fingers. “Hughie,” Butcher gasped, “come on.” His cock must’ve been so hard right now. Hughie wondered if anyone had touched his cock in the past two months, if he couldn’t get off anymore without Hughie like Hughie had been without Butcher, if he’d been aching for it. He wasn’t going to touch his cock, not yet, maybe not tonight.

“Shut up,” Hughie snarled, jabbing at his prostate just to see his back arch. “I’m so fucking pissed at you right now.”

“I know--I’m sor--”

“Do you have a condom?” Hughie pulled his fingers out, all three of them, and Butcher’s hips moved back automatically, driving himself on nothing.

“No,” Butcher shook his head. Hughie pushed down his pants, his dick hard and wet springing free. “I don’t care,” Butcher continued, jerking when Hughie’s hands spread his ass open. “Come on, Hughie, put it in me, yeah? C’mon--”

“Do you ever shut up?” Hughie growled and slid his dick in. He groaned at how tight and hot, and Jesus fucking Christ, smooth Butcher was. God he should fuck him more often, _fuck_. His hands dug into Butcher’s hip as he snapped forward, driving his cock deeper into him. “You fucking lied to me,” he panted as he reared his hips back. Butcher’s voice cracked as Hughie slammed back into him. 

“Hughie…”

He pulled out completely, his dick throbbing, gut wound tight. Butcher’s ass was red and his legs were trapped in his pants around his knees. “Get further on the bed,” Hughie growled and Butcher did as he was told for once, shuffling forward until his face was near the pillows. Hughie climbed atop of him, his knees now on the mattress. They were mostly clothed, which was weird and hot, but Hughie didn’t care as he pulled Butcher back into his dick, arched over Butcher’s back so he could bite into the sensitive skin there. “Listen to yourself, so fucking full of shit.” 

Butcher groaned weakly as Hughie fucked him, deep and then hard, grip tight on Butcher. Butcher reached down to stroke himself, and if Hughie had more of a mind, he’d slap his hands away and tug at Butcher’s aching cock himself. Or he’d hold him at the base, grip tight, punishing Butcher by keeping him on the edge, all hard and wanting and never able to cum. Hughie could fuck him and again and again, leave his ass gaping and full of his cum, use his body over and over again, but never letting go of Butcher’s cock. He could leave Butcher hanging and with nothing to do but cry out for him. He deserved it, all spread out for him, dick weeping with how much he wanted to cum but couldn’t. Yeah, and he’d be crying, begging for Hughie to touch him, begging for Hughie to get him off, begging for him to hold him, to stay with him, to not go—not leave, please, why did you have to go—

It was then that Hughie realized _he_ was the one tearing up. 

“You lied to me,” Hughie croaked, moving inside of him. “All you do is keep things from me.” His hips were speeding up but he was nowhere close to coming, like he was winding himself up for nothing. He wanted to get off, wanted to be done with this, one last fuck for the road, but no matter how hard he fucked, how fast, how much Butcher just took him, no objections, no fight, nothing for him, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get off like this. 

“Hughie,” Butcher gasped, this time when Hughie wouldn’t stop ramming into his prostate. “Come on.”

“Did I not matter?” he asked, eyes clenched shut as he kept his hips moving. Tears streamed down his face, wet and sticky as he asked, begged, “Was I really that easy to walk away from?” Hughie felt Butcher tense underneath him, hips shifting away instead of back onto Hughie’s dick. Hughie stopped trying to fuck him, feeling like he was about to suffocate.

“No,” Butcher told him, struggling to breathe. “When I had to leave…” Butcher twisted so that Hughie could see some of his face, see the despair in those brown eyes. “It felt like I really had died that day.” 

The honesty made Hughie collapse. 

“Billy,” he whimpered, his strength going out. He pulled Butcher down onto the bed so that they were laying there, cramped but close. Hughie still couldn’t see Butcher, and wasn’t sure what he’d do if he faced him, but he wrapped his arms around Butcher’s chest, holding him, hugging him like he’d so desperately wanted but was unable to. He touched Butcher’s chest through the thin material of his tank, and he kissed the nape of his neck, eyes falling shut at how warm and real he was.

Butcher’s hands came to rest atop of Hughie’s. He pulled one up and pressed his lips to Hughie’s knuckles. “I missed you,” he whispered, but it was loud to Hughie.

Hughie gripped the tank with his other hand, holding Butcher even tighter.

Butcher’s ass clenched around Hughie’s cock. It wasn’t that he forgot they were fucking, but the fire had been sucked out. But then Butcher rolled his hips back slightly, getting himself off on Hughie, and he felt something simmer inside of him. Actual arousal, not whatever frenzied state he’d been in before. He hadn’t felt good in so long. Butcher’s kisses on his knuckles turned into sucking on his fingers, wet hot suction while he continued to move. Hughie whimpered, moving forward in shallow thrusts as Butcher worked his fingers in and out of his mouth. The way his tongue curled around his fingers reminded him of how Butcher liked to treat his cock: wet and tight. 

Butcher let go of his fingers and guided Hughie’s hand down, wrapping his wet fingers around his wet cock. Hughie closed his fist in the way that Butcher liked. Butcher made a broken noise as he guided Hughie’s hand up and down. “C’mon, Hughie, fuck me,” he gasped, grinding on his cock. “Show me how good you are at fucking me.”

Hughie whimpered, hips snapping as Butcher jerked himself off using Hughie. 

“Good,” Butcher gasped, “so good. So good for me.” 

“Butcher,” Hughie mewled, thrusting fast to a rhythm that seemed to get Butcher off. His wrist was cramping around Butcher's cock, but it was worth it as the warmth spread from his gut down to his cock, sharp and building as Butcher’s ass tightened around him. “Please—”

“I missed you,” Bucher moaned, driving himself back, harder now, cock twitching, precum everywhere. “Thought about you everyday.”

“Me too,” Hughie cried, ready to burst. “Please, please, Butcher, please.”

“So good,” Butcher repeated, over and over again. “So good, Hughie. Perfect even. Hell—” Butcher bunched up underneath him, ass so tight Hughie thought he could see stars, about to cum. “Love you, Hughie.” Hughie jolted at that. “Cum for me, Hughie, ah—”

“Ngh,” Hughie whimpered as he came, the rush flooding through him, Butcher’s cum wet on his fingers, their bodies so close, tight, covered in sweat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was how this chapter was supposed to go:  
> Hughie: this is probably extremely unhealthy  
> Butcher: i know i deserve it  
> Hughie, slowing down, crying now, unable to apologize but: i just couldn’t...do it without you okay?.
> 
> This is how the chapter ended up:  
> Hughie: i’m so fucking pissed  
> Butcher: yeah, fuck me  
> Hughie, crying because he’s really bad at being angry: why did you leave me  
> Butcher and Hughie tenderly fucking now
> 
> ALSO YALL IM SO SORRY BUT THESE DISGUISES ARE SKSKSKSKSK  
> but please look at my shitty drawing of them:  
> https://imgur.com/IVbbS9G


	6. fuck, butcher, you are so stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hughie and butcher...talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey it's the solstice! :)

Butcher sat across the sticky table of their red pleather booth, his hands holding a plastic-laminated menu. He had insisted on breakfast after they’d woken up, and Hughie agreed, mostly so that he wouldn’t have to look at Butcher’s naked ass anymore. They’d fallen asleep pretty much the same way they’d gotten into bed, but they’d both been smart enough to kick off their shoes, what was left of their pants, and their jackets. Well, and then it got sort of hot when they got under the covers, so Butcher helped Hughie out of his stupid Hawaiian shirt and Hughie took off Butcher’s shirt because he knew he’d overheat as well. And then they’d sort of…held each other before falling asleep. 

Hughie was trying not to think about it. 

“What is it about Denny’s that makes it the worst of American dining experiences,” Butcher mused. “Five kinds of pancakes, and not a lick of bangers and mash.”

Despite Butcher’s shaved hair and beard, which made him look like some kind of eastern European gangster, he still managed to sound like a British fuck. 

“You can always get a burger,” Hughie muttered, flicking his eyes over the menu. “Or eggs and sausage.”

“You know what kind of sausage I want this morning?” 

Hughie knew Butcher was leering at him, but Hughie refused to react. Butcher alive was a miracle, but Hughie was still mad, furious even, because what the fucking hell, Butcher really thought faking his death was a solution. Try as he might, Butcher wasn’t fucking James Bond.

The waitress came over to them and they ordered. Butcher was paying so Hughie ordered chocolate chip pancakes, a plate of bacon, a vanilla milkshake, _and_ a coffee because fuck you. Butcher ended up ordering the classic breakfast of eggs, toast, sausage, and bacon, shooting lecherous comments at the waitress that made her giggle. When she was gone, Hughie leaned back in the booth and watched Butcher.

He looked out of place. Hughie knew he hadn’t been sleeping. Frenchie had said that Butcher lost himself down here, and not in the good way. He could see it now, in the tight line of his shoulders and the way his eyes kept darting to the doors, the way he’d asked for a booth in the furthest corner so he could see everything, the way the knife had been pulled from the paper napkins of their silverware immediately after sitting down.

Hughie cleared his throat. “How did you find me?”

“Frenchie called after he woke up, nice hook by the way,” Butcher winked. Hughie barely registered it. “M.M. had a field day with Frenchie. Smart of you to get a train and then jump ships. Smart boy, knew I could pick them.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Right.” Butcher’s jaw steeled. “Spotted you when you pulled up at Sage Grove. Broke into your car. After Stormfront left for the day, thought I’d stop by. A springtime Christmas present and all that.”

“Stormfront.” Hughie’s fists were in the pockets of his jacket, and they clenched as he spoke. “What’s the deal with her.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Hughie. I have it handled. It’s for your protection.”

Hughie wished he had the gun still, but it was with Butcher now.

“No,” Hughie decided. “You don’t get to hide things from me anymore. Tell me about Stormfront.”

“Were you ever going to tell me about _Noir_?” Butcher countered as if they were the same thing.

Hughie had come down to Florida for one thing. He wasn’t sure what it had been at the time: to see Butcher? To bring him home? It looked like Butcher had decided for him: one last fuck me and fuck you.

Hughie got up. “Bye, Butcher.” 

He barely got out of the booth before Butcher was reaching out and yanking him back into his chair with a, “Fuck, Hughie, _don’t go_.”

Hughie sat down. His face settled into a blank expression as Butcher stared at him, worry in his eyes. It was rare to see Butcher riled up, so Hughie stayed. But Butcher had better start explaining and fast.

Butcher waited until after the waitress dropped off their food. “I didn’t want to tell you because it was related to Becca.”

Hughie rolled his eyes. “You have no reason to hide stuff about your wife from me.”

“I do when it also involves Homelander.”

Oh.

Hughie thought that Homelander was behind the explosion, had nightmares over it, but M.M. promised him Homelander wasn’t involved. They all knew that Homelander fucked things up. “You don’t have to protect me from him,” Hughie said.

Butcher snorted. “I remember the nightmares.”

 _You have them too_ , Hughie wanted to say. Instead, he replied, “I’m the one that knocked him out. He has nothing over me. How does this relate to Stormfront?”

Butcher didn’t answer for a long moment, busy with eating his eggs and sorting his thoughts. Hughie watched him come up with words as he ate his pancakes. They tasted bland in his mouth, even with the melty chocolate. Maybe it was the food, maybe it was the conversation.

“When Becca went missing,” Butcher started, cutting his eggs with his fork, “I knew it had to be that son-of-a-bitch-Homelander. So what did I do? I looked into his contacts, tried to figure out what he was up to and with who. This was before M.M. and Frenchie I teamed up and learned about Compound V.”

So this happened while Butcher was a cop.

“Homelander spent a lot of time with Stormfront.”

“What was she doing there?”

“She was involved in the creation of Compound V. At the time I thought they mighta been fuckin’, but it looked one-sided when I came on the scene. I didn’t really care, cuz she was inner circle and I wanted in on Homelander’s dirty secrets.”

“Why did she talk to you?”

Butcher shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Hughie’s eyes narrowed. “I got her trust one way or another,” Butcher said, as if it meant anything. “Started tellin’ me secrets.”

“Like what? That’s a lot of vague bullshit.” 

“I used intel to get some of Homelander’s operations shut down, a couple of warehouses that couldn’t be connected to Homelander, but sure as shit fucked with his trade routes.”

Hughie was impressed, mostly because he’d managed to get shit done without the help of M.M., Frenchie, and Kimiko back then. And because it made Butcher sound like the fucking investigator of the year.

“Homelander was pissed tits over it. Wanted the head of the snitch. Stormfront realized it was me and wanted me dead, but I had recordings of her leaking Homelander’s plans. I told her to scram, that if she ever came back to the city, I’d send it to Homelander, and then _he’d_ kill her.”

“So why is she fucking with us now?” Hughie stabbed his pancakes with a fork. 

“Homelander’s behind bars,” Butcher reminded him. “He can’t touch her. So she’s free to do what-the-fuck-ever and get revenge.”

“That’s it?” Hughie asked. “She’s pissed off that you almost ratted her out? It’s been years. That’s a pretty aggressive response to have years later even from someone evil. That’s the kind of stuff I’d expect from crazy ex--”

Hughie dropped his fork.

“Did you fuck Stormfront so you could get information on Homelander?” Hughie asked and couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. 

Butcher was staring at his eggs instead of facing him.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” Hughie snarled. “You have a crazy ex-girlfriend and she’s the reason you blew yourself up?”

“I wouldn’t call her my ex-girlfriend…”

“Shut up,” Hughie demanded and Butcher willingly closed his jaw. “For about six months, you refused to call me anything more than your fuck-buddy, so you telling me that doesn’t mean much." Butcher scowled. Good. "Is she in love with you or something? Is that why she wants to kill you?”

“No, she’s fucking crazy, Hughie, and a bitch at that.” Butcher crossed his arms. “I knew if she got to you, she’d string you up and skin you right in front of me. I had to get out of the picture to draw her away.”

“You could’ve just told me that, thanks.” Hughie sipped angrily at his coffee. It was too hot on his tongue but it didn’t fucking matter. 

“I had to fake my death,” Butcher repeated. “She was making moves against me. Sending photos of you at work, or in our apartment. Then there was a bomb sent to the office.”

“When the fuck did that happen?” Hughie demanded. No one had said anything.

“A week before I left,” Butcher said. “We knew it was only going to escalate from there. And chatter had picked up in the city about her. She was too close. I had to keep you safe.”

Hughie rolled his eyes, ready to call bullshit, and choosing to drink his milkshake instead. “So why are we in Florida?”

“ _I'_ _m_ in Florida to figure out what shady-operation she’s up to now.” Butcher corrected. “People like Homelander and Stormfront, they don’t stop once one operation goes under. Just flip their shell companies around like crabs on a boardwalk. Once I figure out what bleak-fuck operation she’s got her hands on, and get some proof, I’ll get her off my back.”

“You’re pulling the same trick twice?” Hughie scoffed. “That won’t work, she knows your game now. She won’t let herself be blackmailed.”

“No, this time I’m turning her in to the fucking cops,” Butcher said, which was surprising. Butcher wasn’t a fan of the cops, or the justice system. “But it’s gotta be something big. And foolproof.”

Like with Homelander. They’d needed a verbal confession to nail his ass, otherwise he could’ve walked free. Certain charges had been overlooked, but there’d been enough to completely ruin his life. There was only one problem with Butcher’s plan. (Actually, there were at least fifty, most about not including Hughie.)

“You’ve found nothing since you’ve been gone,” Hughie pointed out.

“I started in D.C.,” Butcher explained, almost touchy. “Every month, like clockwork. M.M.’s been tracking her for a while. A trip from Florida to D.C., sometimes New Jersey. But she never went to any secret facility. She doesn’t leave her office, except to fuck off at home. Frenchie’s contacts on the dark web say she’s working on a more potent Compound V, that’s why I’m here. She’s gotta have a place down here.”

Hughie started on his vanilla shake. “Okay.”

“OK?” Butcher asked, surprised. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, I’m caught up on the Stormfront stuff.”

“So you get why I left?”

“No.” Hughie crossed his arms, glaring at the man across from him. “I’m fucking furious about that, but I don’t want anymore of these stupid fucking super-villain-wannabes destroying everything, so I’m going to help you.”

“Hughie, ‘help me’? I don’t want you anywhere near this fuckin’ case.”

“Then I guess I won’t tell you how Stormfront’s running her operation.” 

Butcher gaped at him. “You figured it out? How?” There had been only a few times Butcher stared at Hughie in awe. Most notably had been the time Hughie fucked himself on a vibrator while wearing a Spice Girl’s costume. 

Hughie shrugged and sipped more of his milkshake. “I guess it doesn’t matter, since I won’t be anywhere near this fucking case.”

“Hughie,” Butcher growled dangerously. “Tell me what you know. This is serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Tell me what you know.”

And that stupid fucking entitled tone, like Butcher was the boss of everything and everyone, snapped Hughie in half. “You know what I want to know? What did you think was going to happen?” Hughie asked instead, shoving his food aside. “At the rate you’re going, it was gonna be what? A year, two? Until you finally caught Stormfront. Then what? Were you going to come back into my life after I had grieved you? ‘Hey honey, I’m home’ and expect me to jump happily into your arms?”

“Hughie--”

“What did you expect was going to happen?” Hughie asked. “You said you did this for me, to protect me, but I don’t fucking see how any of this was good for me.”

“I didn’t think…” Butcher struggled with his words. “I thought it would be a couple weeks. Not long enough for you to miss me.”

“You died before me. I _grieved_ you,” Hughie repeated, “of course I fucking missed you.”

“Then I didn’t expect you to take me back,” Butcher admitted. “I’m fucked up, Hughie.”

Hughie couldn’t help how hot his face felt, the way he was starting to tear up. “So was that your way of breaking up with me?”

Butcher looked like he’d been slapped. “What? _No._ ” Butcher ran a heavy hand through his hair, but it was gone now, so he growled instead. “The plan had to work, Stormfront had to believe I was gone. Get sloppy now that I was out of this picture. I wanted to come back to you, Hughie.” 

“But you were willing to give up our relationship for a job,” Hughie summarized. _You were willing to give up me._ Hughie wiped at his face. Jesus fucking Christ, could he get into one argument without bawling like a baby?

“I was willing to give up everything if it meant you were safe,” Butcher said instead. “I’m pretty fucking gone on you, Hughie, you must know that. You’re the only reason I’m tryna be sneaky instead of fucking blowing up a bunch of warehouses and shooting Stormfront in broad daylight.”

Which. That was a point. But it still fucking hurt. That Butcher could leave him. That he could walk away. That, “You kept all of this from me.” Hughie looked weakly at him. “We’re supposed to trust each other.”

Butcher swallowed, a pained expression on his face. “You’re right.”

And that was a fucking first.

“I’m sorry,” he added.

Maybe Butcher _had_ been replaced with a clone.

“Fine,” Hughie decided, grabbing his milkshake again. “I’ll tell you how Stormfront’s running things. But I want in. You’ve already been stupid enough. You might actually blow yourself up if I’m not there.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near this,” Butcher told him, but something in Hughie’s face must’ve been a warning because Butcher added, “but I’ll let you stay _if_ you promise to stay out of trouble.” That was an improvement.

“Deal.” 

They didn’t shake on it because Hughie didn’t want to hold Butcher’s hand. That felt too dangerous. Hughie drank his milkshake. Butcher paid for breakfast. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first time I had a friend read a chapter or two and her notes on this chapter were fucking hilarious.  
> When Butcher calls Stormfront a bitch: “bad butcher. don’t talk about women like that. though this one is definitely crazy and a bitch. I’ll let it slide”  
> When Hughie mentioned fucking himself on a vibrator: “we love to see it”  
> When butcher said his fake death was “not long enough” for hughie to miss him: “go to therapy”  
> SKSKSKS she freaking reads my mind sometimes and helped me get out of a chapter slump WHEW. she also agrees that i should be writing real eroticas ssksksksk love her!!! thank you all for you patience!!!
> 
> also the amazing YomiReXL made a drawing of Butcher ahh!! https://www.deviantart.com/yomirexl/art/Buzzcut-Butcher-865286905?ga_submit_new=10%3A1609099391 
> 
> I'd love to see more artwork!! <3 <3 <3


	7. fuck, butcher, let's partner up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hughie and butcher figure out what stormfront's up to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey does anyone remember last year when i sped-run through a bunch of one shots and then wrote 29,000 fanfic because something was DEFINITELY in the water? i have an inkling something similar is happening to me rn sksksk, except not really because i disappeared for a while (with good reason) HAHAH but this is literally amazing.
> 
> EDIT: oh wait, why did I just realize I started posting October 24th? it looks pretty fucking normal to finish a 30,000 fic in like two months lol IGNORE ME. i am no longer feeling guilty *gay peace signs*

“It’s pretty great,” Hughie said as they walked down mainstreet, “for a completely evil scheme, but yeah. It’s good.”

Butcher kept his hands buried deep in the pockets of that stupid velour tracksuit of his. He kept scanning the crowds as they walked past the shops, which only served to make Butcher look more suspicious in broad daylight. “What are we doing here?”

“I suspected it the other day,” Hughie continued, “but seeing your notes on the case confirmed it. This place is only a couple blocks from her condo. She could walk here if she needed.”

“Hughie, tell me what you know.”

Hughie pressed his lips together. In part to hold back a smirk and to keep himself from spitting out more pent up insults. He was over it. Or, better yet, he had easier things to think about now. Like how Hughie was the smartest fucking guy Butcher knew if he could figure something out before the great bad detective himself could.

They passed a pottery shop, a small time bakery, and a comic shop that Hughie was thoroughly tempted to detour into. Across the street was a Boba place that Hughie was willing to sprint for, but there were important things. They passed a dirty alley before stopping in front of a flower shop. 

Hughie grinned.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” Butcher asked. “And why’s it called _Orlando Blooms_ if we’re in fucking Jacksonville.” He considered Hughie with interest. “If you wanted flowers, you could’ve asked.”

“As much as I like flowers,” Hughie said while trying really hard not to think about that possibility, “this is how Stormfront does her dirty business.”

Butcher raised his brow.

“I noticed it when I staked out her offices,” Hughie explained. “This flower delivery service stopped by at least five times in a single business day. The same guy came in with a vase of flowers and left with it. That’s how they’re passing information: through the flower delivery service.”

“Couldn’t a bunch fucks just want flowers?” Butcher asked.

“I’m pretty sure it’s shit business model for one van to go to the same building five times a day rather than delivering it all at once. Maybe two orders a day, if there’s a rush, but I was only there for a couple hours. And it was always the same van.”

“Wouldn’t someone notice the same guy? Or how many fucking flowers Stormfront got?” Butcher asked.

“I think if Stormfront’s smart enough to give all her messages to her shady drug ring through a flower chain, she’d easily know how to make people not notice a couple delivery guys.” Hughie crossed his arms. “Besides, did you have any other idea?”

They both knew he didn’t.

Butcher looked into the store. There was a woman behind the counter, talking with a customer, but there weren’t many people around. “There’s gotta be a back office.” He nodded to the alleyway. “I’ll go inside, see what delivery route the service has. If you’re right, they’ll have a couple of regular places.”

“You said we were in it together, we shook on it,” Hughie said. “I’m going in with you,” 

“No you’re not,” Butcher replied and before Hughie could protest, continued, “because you’ll stand here and distract anyone that tries to follow me in.”

Hughie closed his mouth.

Butcher nodded. He scanned the street again and then patted Hughie on the arm. “Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes. Text if something comes up.” And then he was gone.

Hughie stared at the space Butcher had occupied and then blinked himself out of it. He made his way to the opening of the alley and leaned against the corner. He watched the people pass by with a tight grip on his phone. 

For the first time Hughie was alone with his thoughts.

A part of him was ashamed of his behavior. He’d done a lot of stupid, fucked up shit on his way to get to Butcher and once he got to him, the vitriol made him want to shred Butcher to pieces. What if Hughie had taken things further, had hurt Butcher in ways that couldn’t be forgiven? He’d never felt that way before and it terrified him.

He was still mad at Butcher and he couldn’t figure out the road back, to what they were before. But what they were before led to Butcher hiding things. What they were before wasn’t nearly as wonderful as he thought it had been. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to leave or try and work things out. He already said he would stay, had already shown his hand, but maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe things could only get worse.

A woman crossed the street and Hughie jerked at the sight of her. 

Oh _fuck_.

He could recognize Stormfront’s half-shave anywhere. It was fucking iconic. Thinking about her and Butcher being together was a mindfuck and one that could quickly turn into Hughie thinking over his many flaws, before he remembered that she was a fucking terrible human being, and there was no way Butcher _loved_ her. 

Stormfront made a beeline for the alleyway. 

His heart started pounding. How likely did she recognize Hughie from the wake? He’d kept his head down for most of it and he looked different now and she clearly hadn’t seen him yet and aw fuck now she was turning down the alley--what the fuck was she doing here--and he could see the door opening up because Butcher had the worst fucking timing and Hughie blurted, “Hey!” so loudly that it made Stormfront wince.

She turned to face him. She had that douchebag glare on her face and her brown eyes could be lasers if she wanted them to be. “What.”

Over her head, Butcher came out of the flower shop.

“I, uh, see--” Hughie stuttered.

Butcher’s eyes locked with Hughie’s panicked ones.

He jerked his gaze away from Butcher to Stormfront, plastering a smile on his face. “I’m a little lost,” he said good-naturedly. “I’m new to the area and I’m looking for this brunch place that’s supposed to be around here? My girlfriend said they had these amazing…chicken and waffles.”

Butcher seemed to understand what was going on and ducked behind a dumpster.

Stormfront studied him sharply. “Are you talking about Lou’s?” She looked like the type of woman that could punch him in the throat at a moment’s notice and it terrified Hughie. How her and Butcher got it on without Butcher losing his balls was a question Hughie didn’t want to know the answer to.

“Uh…yes? I think so, something like that.” 

“It’s two blocks that way,” Stormfront pointed to their left. “Look for a blue sign and maybe next time don’t accost ladies in alleys, dickwad.”

“Right,” Hughie chuckled uneasily, ”sorry about that.”

Stormfront scoffed and turned away, heading for the flower shop’s door. Hughie watched her go, feeling like a creep and reminding himself that he respected the hell out of women. As soon as the door closed shut, Butcher came from around the dumpster and hauled Hughie onto the sidewalk, leading them back to where they had parked the car.

“What did she say to you?” Butcher demanded. “Did she recognize you?”

“I don’t think so,” Hughie said, but he couldn’t be sure with a woman like that, “and you heard her. I asked fake directions, she called me a perv.”

Butcher snorted and kept walking. His hand was steady on Hughie’s shoulder and Hughie didn’t know how to feel about it, what it meant. “I’ve gotta call M.M.” Butcher pulled out his phone, sending a text before ringing it.

_“Hello?”_

“Right M.M., I sent a couple addresses,” Butcher talked. “Need you to tell me what looks shady.”

 _“On it,”_ M.M. said over the line. Hughie could hear someone typing in the background.

“Did Frenchie and Kimiko find the shipment?” Butcher asked.

 _“We did,”_ Frenchie spoke up. Hughie tensed at the sound of his voice, remembering the last time they met and the kind of messes the both of them were. _“Looked like Compound V. There was another shipment, but it looked legit. Flu vaccine.”_

“Get a sample to a lab,” Butcher said, “to find out what it really is. Don’t want to leave anything to fucking chance with this one.”

_“I will.”_

_“Butcher,”_ M.M. interrupted, _“only seven address are repeated. Three of them are warehouses.”_

“That was fast,” he said.

 _“Someone highlighted them,”_ M.M. scoffed. _“The grunts are always careless.”_

 _“Or dead,”_ Frenchie quipped. _“I once knew a man who would sell organs through a sticker packager involved in--”_

“What are those three addresses?” Butcher asked, reeling the conversation in.

M.M. rattled them off and Hughie wrote them down in his own phone. When he was done there was a silence on the channel. _“Butcher,”_ M.M. said quietly. _“Is Hughie with you?”_

 _“Did he make it there safely?”_ Frenchie added.

Butcher watched Hughie for his reaction

Hughie swallowed, remembering the impact from hitting Frenchie. “I’m here,” Hughie spoke up.

There was a collective sigh on the phone. 

_“Hughie--”_ Frenchie struggled. _“About what happened…”_

Hughie felt magnanimous. “We’ll talk when this is over.”

Another sigh.

 _“Thanks, Hughie,”_ M.M. said.

He wasn’t that magnanimous. “I’m still mad at you.”

Butcher switched the phone off from the speaker and pressed it to his ear. “Listen, M.M., we’re going to check out the warehouses. Keep on Stormfront’s New York connections. I’ll check in later.” 

They made it back to the car by the time Butcher hung up. They got inside and Hughie tried not to think about how used to Butcher being close to him had been. He rested his head on the window as Butcher started the car up, mulling over the conversation with Frenchie and M.M. and the complicated emotions rinsing through his brain.

“You wanna talk about it?” Butcher asked, pulling onto the road and into traffic. It felt a little rich coming from him.

“Not really.”

“You sure?” 

“What do you want from me?” Hughie glanced at him from the side. “I’ll deal with it when we go back.”

Butcher shrugged, their drive filling with silence.

The first address was in St. Augustine, a soap place that had been burned down a couple weeks ago. It looked like the flowers had been for those who had died, their pictures attached to the chain linked fence. Something about the scene felt off, mostly because a van came by here each week to drop off some flowers, but the warehouse was completely destroyed and there wasn’t anything to check out. 

The second place was in Palatka.

“These are far,” Hughie noticed. It would take them at least an hour to get back. It made sense: the further away Stormfront’s operations were, the less likely things could be traced back to her.

“The third place is in Jacksonville.” Butcher pulled into the parking lot. “We should go back to my hotel after we get your stuff.” 

“Okay.” He wasn’t sure if Butcher would get him a separate rooms or if they were going to share one, and if they did share one, if they’d have two beds or share a bed. He wasn’t sure which he wanted.

The third place was a vinyl warehouse that was currently under construction. No one was around today, which looked odd for the middle of the afternoon during the week, but maybe funding had gone south. The signs at the front were advertising the beauty parlor that would soon take its place. It sort of made sense that flowers would be delivered here, or to the funeral home that was across the street, but Butcher insisted they explore the premises, and this time Hughie was coming with. They were able to sneak on without any issue, which screamed weird, but for the most part, this place looked clean. The floors and walls were in the process of getting re-done and everything was in boxes. Butcher and Hughie combed through each one, but they could only find smocks and a couple bottles of hand-sanitizer. 

“I don’t like this,” Butcher murmured absentmindedly, leafing through the thin-cotton dresses.

“What don’t you like?” Hughie asked, sniffing a bottle to make sure it was hand-sanitizer. He was worried about getting caught, but no one had been around all day. Butcher had done a sweep for cameras before anything else, but there didn’t seem to be anything here. Hughie couldn’t find the flowers anywhere.

“Too many smocks,” Butcher explained, pulling out a packet. “Would be enough to clothe an army of hairdressers.”

“What else could they be for?” Hughie thought maybe the lotion bottles could be drugs, really shitty drugs, but it was a possibility. They could also be hiding drugs in the lines of the smocks. He’d read somewhere once about drug lords hiding their stuff in just about anything from coconuts to the soles of shoes.

“Human trafficking.” Butcher grimaced at the prospect, took some pictures of the boxes, and sent it to M.M. “Come on,” Butcher said, walking to the back end of the building, “we need to check back here.”

Hughie followed him. He remembered the last time Hughie had been involved with a case and how Homelander had been involved with human trafficking as well as drug running. Hughie almost wished all those extra smocks were just a way for Stormfront to get stuff for her treatment facilities, but Stormfront and Homelander were cut from the same cloth and he couldn’t forget it. With people like them, their actions were worse than he could ever imagine. Plus, extra smocks under the books could be a sign of human rights violations for industry workers, which was also pretty awful.

They walked down the hall, looking out for anyone that might’ve been hiding, or more suspicious boxes. They found a manager’s office and a storage closet at the back. Butcher went for the door handle and then stopped, back turned to Hughie.

Hughie heart thudded in his chest. “Is something wrong?”

“Something’s been bothering me,” Butcher admitted, looking at him.

That didn’t calm him down in the slightest. “Okay? What is it? Do you think someone’s behind there?” Hughie should’ve asked for the gun back from Butcher, he felt a little naked right now.

“I want to know what happened.” Butcher swallowed. “At _Noir’s_.”

Hughie sucked in a breath. 

“Frenchie said he saw you there. Did you…?” The question floated heavily in the air. 

Did you meet someone?

Did you fuck them?

Did you sub for them?

Did you move on?

Did you forget about me?

When Hughie didn’t answer, Butcher pushed the door open and went in. The space only made the questions grow, take shape, kept them apart. Hughie felt like maybe he should’ve been ashamed of his time at _Noir_ , but how could he? Butcher was gone, Hughie was falling apart, _Noir_ was a last resort at the time.

“I went in,” Hughie settled on.

He followed Butcher into the manager’s office. The space was sparse, an ugly beige color, and the only point of interest was the desk and the binders of records on the shelves. The desk was empty, save a pack of granola bars and a stapler. Butcher leafed through the binders absently and Hughie watched him. It was obvious Butcher was skimming the pages and that his attention was still on Hughie, although he was trying to not let that be the case.

“I tried to scene with Chad and Seth.” He _really_ needed to send them a fruits basket or something. He wasn’t going to tell Butcher the specifics, because he didn’t need to recount the humiliation and the vulnerability was too much right now. “I couldn’t do it.”

“Did they hurt you?” Butcher’s grip around the binders twitched like he wanted to wring their throats.

“Nothing more than I asked for,” Hughie told him. “I kept thinking about--” Hughie looked away from him. “There was a reason why I reacted so badly to Frenchie’s news,” he said softly.

Butcher made a noise of agreement.

“Let’s look in the other room,” Hughie said, leaving before Butcher answered. 

It was a good thing they checked out the storage closet because it was filled to the brim with boxes. Hughie opened up one box and whistled, Butcher coming in behind him. He could recognize the blue vials from anywhere. It looked like Stormfront really was dealing with Compound V.

“Good job,” Butcher murmured, snapping photos with his phone. 

“Do you think it’s the same stuff as Homelander’s or do you think it’s different?” Hughie wondered as he propped open the other boxes. The next crate had hand lotion, but the one after had more Compound V.

“Probably worse,” Butcher guessed. Butcher snapped a few more pictures of the boxes and the drugs. Hughie had gathered by now that Butcher would and M.M. would be sending most of the information “anonymously” to a contact of theirs in the FBI, but that they wanted to compile as much information as possible before they handed it over. “We should check the third site,” Butcher said, closing the lid, “this isn’t enough to feed her empire. There’s gotta be more at the third address.” 

“Are we going now?” Hughie wondered, dreading the possibility. He was feeling worn out all of the sudden and he didn’t want to think too hard on why.

“No,” Butcher decided. “We’ll do it tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> normally i’d wait until i had chapter 9 written to post this but holy fucking shit folks, chpt 8 IS LONG. i’m pretty sure like a quarter of this fic is just gonna be chapter 8 HAHAHA. I told my mom (vaguely) about it and she was like maybe split into two and i was like ???? no <3


	8. fuck, butcher, i want you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hughie and butcher check out the third address. truth comes to light. our boys remember what they mean to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the number of words in this chapter...omg...the emotions...i--

“There’s no fucking way Stormfront’s operating out of here,” Hughie said in disbelief as they got out of the car. After yesterday, Hughie had asked to be dropped off at his motel for the night. In the morning, he’d driven himself and what little he’d brought with him to the Best Western Butcher was staying at. From there, they’d taken the quick drive to the third address. “Are you sure this is right?”

“Yep.” Butcher smacked his lips together. “This is the right place.”

“I can’t believe it.” Hughie understood that Stormfront was trying to waive suspicious, but it seemed like a shit idea to stash drugs and other criminal activities along a boardwalk. Too many people around, someone could see something and say something. The only thing going for her here was that there were tons of stalls and Hughie had no idea which ones to check. This place had everything from ice cream to roller skates. ”Like did it say where we were meant to go?” 

Butcher shrugged. “We might be here awhile.”

“Yeah no shit, this place is huge.” 

They made their way onto the boardwalk and Hughie was blasted with the salt spray of the ocean, the greasy smell of food, and the omnipresent sunscreen flare that racked these parts. It was moments like these that Hughie was grateful for the shorts he’d invested in. He was currently wearing another ridiculous tropical shirt and once or twice he’d seen Butcher eye it with jealousy. Butcher had been smart enough to ditch the tracksuit today for clothes similar to Hughie’s which was...distracting, he hated to admit. Butcher was not one to show off his legs. The only thing keeping him at bay was the stupid shine of his bald head. And the sunglasses they both wore kept things above the board, thank god.

“C’mon, I smell burgers,” Butcher walked ahead and Hughie couldn’t argue with that. Sometimes Butcher had good ideas. They both ordered burgers and fries, splitting a soda. They argued over Dr. Pepper vs. Coke, but the place only had Pepsi, so they went with Sprite. Hughie’s fries were drizzled with some kind of special sauce, Butcher’s with ketchup, and barely twenty feet from the shop did they switch fries.

“Why do you always get ketchup if you like the special sauce better?” Hughie wondered, eating his burger.

“What makes you think I don’t order it for you?” Butcher chuckled. Hughie nearly choked on some lettuce “You think you’re so adventurous, Hughie, but you like the classics. Don’t lie.”

And here he thought Hughie ordered the special sauce because Butcher wouldn’t admit how bland ketchup was. Fucking hell.

Hughie cleared his throat and looked down the boardwalk. “Where do you think Stormfront’s set up shop?”

Butcher shrugged. “Not sure, it could be anything.”

“Clearly you knew her, she must’ve had some interests. Maybe that could lead us to where we need to go.”

“You think Stormfront’s a sentimental fuck?” Butcher scoffed. “Nothing I know about her will help us here.”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt,” Hughie said, “just tell me what you know about her.”

“There’s not much to say.” Butcher earned himself a few more minutes of silence by finishing his burger. “I heard about her schooling, her Nazi family, and a bit of the ideological bullshit she spread on the internet. We didn’t talk about whiskers on kittens or crossword puzzles.” He crunched on a French fry. “But she was fucking obsessed with Homelander. The two wanted to play doctor, but he refused to drop trow. She had a thing for taking down assertive men.”

“Is that why she liked you?” Hughie asked. From the one interaction with Stormfront, she was very much a top, and it wasn’t surprising that she liked topping tops. But Homelander was a bitchboy and as much of a top as Hughie was a redhead.

“She liked me because I pretended to be like her.”

“How was the sex?” It had been niggling at Hughie, maybe not as much as all the other bullshit, but it had definitely been there.

“Dangerous.”

“So hot?” Hughie guessed. Butcher had been all kinds of trouble when they first met and that had been one hell of a turn on. But Butcher grimaced at the idea.

“No, Hughie.” Butcher’s voice lowered. “It wasn’t good. Knowing she could strike at any moment, I couldn’t relax around her.” Butcher wouldn’t stop staring at him, even from behind the glasses, and Hughie wanted to distract himself with fries. “Not like with you.”

He really wanted to be away from this conversation now. “Oh.”

Butcher sighed, running a hand over his head, like he missed his hair as much as Hughie missed it, and those were dangerous thoughts to have. “There,” he nodded towards a shop nearby, “that looks like somewhere Stormfront would go to.”

Hughie looked over. He doubted Stormfront spent much time in a gelato place, but Hughie took the exit graciously. They went in and Butcher made a subtle show of looking around the establishment. Hughie ordered lemon for him and vanilla for Butcher, because some things didn’t change. He handed the little cup and spoon to Butcher on their way out, who took it with a little smile. Hughie couldn’t quite decide where to go next. They could keep walking down the boardwalk aimlessly, peering through the various stalls, but then Hughie spotted a carousel and he couldn’t resist the little butterflies that welled in his chest.

“We should go,” Hughie suggested, pointing at the little attraction. “We could see what’s around from up high.”

Butcher shook his head, trying to conceal his smile. “Lead the way.”

As they stood in line for the carousel, Hughie snorted, turning to Butcher. “Do you remember that time we visited that carnival?”

“For Frenchie’s birthday?” As if he didn’t already know the answer. It wasn’t like they were going to carnivals often.

“Yeah,” Hughie grinned. “Kimiko hated the clowns.”

“So did M.M., he squealed louder than a middle schooler.” Butcher smirked. “Kimiko almost punched the twat if it hadn’t been for Frenchie.”

Hughie remembered it well. Kimiko’s fists balled at her sides, standing between M.M. and the clown even though she was shaking like a leaf. Hughie had been distracted with the churro vender and Butcher was off winning a fidget spinner or something stupid like that. 

“He knew just what to say to her,” Hughie said. Frenchie only had to whisper Kimiko’s name for her to relax. The clown backed off and Kimiko had laced her fingers with Frenchie’s, bringing his knuckles to her lips. And the two of them had smiled and continued on their day as if nothing had happened. 

“Remember how he begged like a pup to go on the carousel?”

“He said it was because liked the chipped paint on the horses.”

“Nah, it was coz he got to ride with Kimiko on the two-seater ponies.”

“I’m glad Frenchie wasn’t cheating on her,” Hughie said. “They’re perfect together.”

“Neither are perfect,” Butcher reminded him. “Frenchie hates being stereotypical. He sometimes thinks their relationship’s a cliché.” Butcher usually didn’t talk about the flaws of his friends. Once or twice, Hughie had heard about M.M.’s relationship troubles, but rarely any character analyses. 

It made Hughie wonder what Butcher was thinking about him.

“Frenchie only knows how to speak in cliché,” Hughie said instead. “Living one shouldn’t be a turn off.” Not that their relationship _was_ a cliché. 

Butcher hummed absently before continuing with Kimiko. “Did you know her family was separated? She’s looked for her brother, no dice. Sometimes she goes bloodthirsty about it. Frenchie doesn’t mind the passion, what scares him is the indifference.” Butcher rubbed his jaw, sighing a bit as if remembering an old fight between friends. “But they work it out. They always do.”

He looked at Hughie and he could hear the _We’ll work it out too_ and it made Hughie want to throttle him. Because none of this had been Hughie’s fault. And even though Hughie understood on some level why Butcher did what he did, and Butcher had apologized, and they’d both admitted to missing one another, Hughie felt lost. What else did he want Butcher to do? He couldn’t change what had happened and Butcher would live with this fuck up for years to come, but there came a point when Hughie had to decide whether or not keep holding onto this anger and let it destroy them or let it go and work to move on from this dark period whatever that meant and he just…wasn’t sure.

He couldn’t ask for help from the one person that he was supposed to be able to share the world with.

The park ride operator let them onto the carousel. The little pink seat swung back and forth under their heavy weight. They were pressed against one another and Hughie regretted this whole thing right then and there because Butcher smelled just like he remembered and there was something about his profile as it looked out at the ocean that made Hughie’s knees weak. They lurched forward as the carousel started up again. As they began to rise, Hughie couldn’t help but look at his hands on the rail.

“Do you remember that time I met Jock?” Hughie wondered, staring at the skin around his knuckles. Jock was an old school buddy of Butcher’s. They’d met at Butcher’s most recent birthday party. They’d had seafood and later that night, Hughie had rimmed Butcher until he lost it.

“I remember.”

“Did he tell you about the talk he gave me?”

Butcher shook his head. 

“It was _the talk_ , you know, the kind friends and family give boyfriends. He told me he’d break my kneecaps if I broke your heart.”

Butcher laughed. “He _said_ that to you? That fucker.”

Hughie smiled, bittersweet. “I didn’t get it. I’m not a scary guy and everyone knows you’re Mr. Trouble.” Hughie looked at him then. “But when I found out you were alive…I lost it. I got why he was worried.”

“I put you through a lot.”

“I brought the gun with me,” he returned.

Butcher raised a brow. “Were you honestly going to shoot me, Hughie?”

He sighed, his hands falling from the rail and onto his thighs. “I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But I wanted to. There were a lot of things I wanted to do…but I just couldn’t. Any of it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Butcher exhaled deeply. “I gave you mace and you used a frying pan. I gave you a gun and I couldn’t tell you why I did, because yeah, it was fucking stupid and--I didn’t expect you to use it, not really, Hughie, you’re not that sort of man.”

“But I could’ve been,” Hughie said. “And that scares the shit out of me, Butcher. What that means, what any of this means.”

“I promise I won’t ever let it get that far again.” Butcher’s leg pressed firmly against his, reminding him of how close they were to each other. And it felt like a promise Hughie could believe in. It didn’t stop the fear curdling at the edges of him, or the doubts, but it felt like something. Which is better than what he’d had before.

The carousel reached the top and even though they were supposed to be looking out for Stormfront’s operations, Hughie couldn’t help but stare at the sea. The crashing of waves, the loud crowd sounds, the seagulls, and the sun beating down on him, and yet all of it managed to soften the longer he let himself get swept up in it. What it felt like sitting next to a man who made promises. Hughie stared at the horizon and Butcher leaned back in their seat.

“Frenchie told me you were messed up down here,” Hughie said, finally turning towards him. Hughie found Butcher already watching. “What happened?”

“It was…difficult. Without you.” Butcher frowned, glancing away only to return to Hughie just as fast. Butcher liked to hide from the truth sometimes, but Hughie could tell when he was putting in the effort. Like now. “Stormfront and her boyfriend looked so happy together and all I could think about was how we couldn’t be when scum like her was out and about.” 

“And?”

“I started drinking. Heavily.” Butcher sighed. “Wasn’t okay until M.M. came down and slapped some nonsense into me. Reminded me why I was here, what I was doing this for.” He stared at Hughie. “When Frenchie told me you were on your way, I almost blew my cover.”

Hughie almost laughed because god they were a bunch of idiots, weren’t they?

They managed to fall into an easy silence after that, truths wrung out of them, and the carousel went another round. Butcher’s arm made its way around Hughie’s shoulders, and he sunk into the warmth with a little smile. He decided that this moment would be one for the books. 

When they got off the carousel, Butcher suggested they go down to the beach even though Hughie had no idea how Stormfront hid her operations in the sand. They held their shoes in their hands and took off their glasses. They walked across the hot sand until it ran wet and cool under the ocean waves. Butcher smiled at the sea spray and Hughie copied him. When their feet got used to the temperature they began to walk, taking in big clouds and the pinkening of the sky.

“It’s nice,” Butcher commented. 

“New York beaches are better,” Hughie claimed. He was a New Yorker through and through, even if piña coladas belonged in Butcher’s hands. He pictured Butcher with his hair, in his clothes, laughing a little at the swimmers, what a sight that would be.

“Nippy,” Butcher corrected and Hughie couldn’t fight him on that.

“Do you remember visiting your aunt?” Hughie asked.

“I do.”

“That was fun.” Butcher’s aunt was a different kind of person, but her drunken stories could top Butcher’s any day. His aunt had put them in two rooms, because it was ‘proper for couples to sleep separate you ungodly turds,’ but they’d ended up in the same bed each night. “She had some great tales about you and Lenny.”

Butcher smiled. “Lenny’s a good lad, and Aunt Judy’s a saint.”

“I’m pretty sure she sells weed,” Hughie giggled.

“Hush.” Butcher splashed a little water at Hughie. Hughie of course had to return it. Soon enough they were running, trying to splash one another. “Come back here, you little cunt!”

“Try and catch me!” Hughie kicked water up to his pants and ran just out of Butcher’s reach.

“Oi!” Butcher snagged Hughie’s fingers.

In return, Hughie jerked him forward, and Butcher lost his balance, falling into shallow water.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Hughie,” Butcher growled and then suddenly Hughie was being dragged into the wet sand. Hughie yelped at his ruined shorts. He struggled but it was useless when he was trapped in Butcher’s arms. He twisted just slightly so he could wipe sand down his shirt but there were already flecks of sand on Butcher’s jaw and Butcher’s hands had moved somewhere to his hips and now they were staring at one another, breathing heavily, and the sun was a perfect warmth behind them. Butcher swallowed and his hands were still on Hughie and he was rubbing perhaps the most maddening circles on his skin, where his shirt had ridden up, and all Hughie could think was _god, this is why I fucking love him_ and Butcher was offering, “--a gyro place up the ‘walk, saw it earlier, we should--”

“Was this a date?” Hughie asked because he hadn’t been able to put the weight into the idea until just then, but he knew Butcher, he really did.

Butcher froze, his face a little guilty.

“I’m not mad if it is,” Hughie decided, “except maybe a little, because you didn’t tell me.”

“Yes,” Butcher admitted and he moved his hands off of Hughie to somewhere safer. “This was a date.”

“Where are Stormfront’s operations?”

“Across town.”

“You took a detour from shutting down America’s most bitchy to get gelatos with me?” Hughie asked because didn’t Butcher want this to be over? Didn’t he want to put this Stormfront nonsense behind him?

Butcher looked down at the ocean foam swirling around them. It was cold and they’d need to get up soon, but Hughie wasn’t moving until he had his answers. “I wasn’t sure where you’d go once we closed the case.”

“You think I’m going to leave?” And his heart was getting broken into two as if Butcher hadn’t already done that. 

“I didn’t think I gave you enough reason to stay,” Butcher admitted. 

“Do you love me?” Hughie asked. He already knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me?” Hughie raised his hands to Butcher’s jaw, tilting his head so he now had to look at him. “Trust me so that you’ll tell me when something is going wrong? Because I’m not putting up with this kind of bullshit.”

“Yes, Hughie, I trust you. It’s difficult…to tell you everything, but,” Butcher swore, “I’ll never lie to you again.”

Hughie laughed because, “Now that’s a lie if I ever heard one. You always say you’ll do the laundry on Sunday when I _know_ you don’t get to it until Tuesday.” 

“I won’t lie to you about the big stuff,” Butcher promised, and there was a glint in his eyes. Fire and fury and a bit of hopefulness. “No more secrets.”

“You’ve been an idiot and a fuck asshat at that,” Hughie said, sitting back a little in his lap.

“Does this mean you still like me?”

“I love you,” Hughie said and then he pulled Butcher into a kiss. 

Butcher’s hands made their way back to Hughie’s hips, where they belonged, and their mouths were sweet and hungry and Hughie was perfectly content to drown by kissing Butcher in the ocean. Hughie’s hands smoothed along Butcher’s jaw feeling the bone, the stubble, the little scars around there. When was the last time he’d done this? He couldn’t remember what Butcher felt like, what he tasted like, what he’d been like, but he could have it now, and he could remember what Butcher did to him, how perfect his hands were, such strong and capable hands, and how his chest was too broad for his own good, and how Hughie just fit perfectly alongside him.

Butcher nipped at his lower lip and murmured, “Wanna get out of here?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathed.

Hughie’s legs were wobbly and Butcher was turning into an old man, but they got up easily enough. Their pants were completely soaked and their shoes had been tossed aside. Their hands were sticky and sandy, but Hughie couldn’t bare to let him go as they gathered up the rest of their stuff and made a quick dash to the car. 

He felt like he was a teenager again with how excited he was, leg bouncing as Butcher started the car. Butcher seemed to be similarly distracted, an anticipated look on his face before he glued his gaze ahead. Butcher’s hands were tight on the wheel and Hughie half suspected that Butcher was restraining himself from grabbing Hughie by the neck and making out with him the entire drive back if it were possible. Hughie’s thoughts ran ahead of him, thinking about the bedroom Butcher was in and what they were going to do once they got there. Hughie wanted to be on his knees for Butcher and be told how good he was as Butcher fucked his mouth, but he also wanted to ride Butcher’s cock as soon as possible or get as many of his fingers inside of him until Hughie was begging for his cock, or maybe just their hands on each other would be enough or maybe Hughie could sit in his lap and they could take it so slow they’d both be weak for it. At a red light, Butcher reached across the console and squeezed Hughie’s thigh gently. Hughie stilled and let out a breath, all tension sucked out of him. He was still eager for it, both he and Butcher were hard in their shorts, but his thoughts smoothed into the horizon, and all he could focus on was the fact that he and Butcher were in the same space together and that it was easy again and that was better than any idea he had.

When they got to the hotel, they were very careful about not doing anything more than holding hands and staring longingly at one another. Fucking hell, they were probably mooning at this point and Hughie almost felt bad for the older couple in the elevator if they weren’t already smiling with knowing eyes. By the time Butcher opened the door to his small room with white bed sheets and the translucent curtains opened to the soft light outside, Hughie felt like he was about to step on clouds.

Butcher closed the door and kissed him. His free hand reached up to unbutton Hughie’s shirt. Hughie used his spare hand to cup Butcher’s cheek, unable to resist holding him close. “Perfect,” Butcher muttered between kisses, “absolutely gorgeous.” 

Hughie shivered, eyes falling shut as Butcher continued.

“I’m going to make sure you’re loved,” he said, peeling Hughie’s open shirt off his shoulders and to the floor. He rubbed his thumb across Hughie’s nipple, but his whole hand had spread across the entirety of his chest as if Butcher was trying to memorize Hughie’s entire body just by hand alone. Butcher’s fingers smoothed from his upper chest down to his ribs, rubbing back and forth along his abdomen until his fingers grazed his happy trail. Hughie clenched Butcher’s hand in his, jerking a little at the sensations.

“Please,” Hughie gasped. His hand moved from Butcher’s jaw to the back of his neck, tugging at the back of Butcher’s shirt collar. “Take it off. Please.”

Butcher kissed him again, this time with plenty of tongue. Soon enough both of their hands were free. Hughie immediately went to the bottom of Butcher’s shirt, raising it along his sides and scraping his nails along the skin there just to hear Butcher moan. Butcher took off his shirt, dislodging from their kiss for a moment to take it off. They kissed again, wet and messy and perfect. The both of them were undoing the other’s pants, crowding in close so that their warm chests rubbed, hard-ons pressed against each other in a maddening way. 

Butcher got Hughie’s button undone first, growling, “Off. Now,” and Hughie was almost positive he could come if he heard that again. Hughie got Butcher’s pants undone as well and they both peeled out of their sticky clothes until they were naked before each other.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but god it was a perfect one.

“Don’t leave me ever again,” Hughie begged, eyes combing over every perfect inch of Butcher’s body, whole, alive, perfect body. “Please.”

“I won’t,” Butcher swore, reaching out to touch him. They kissed again, cupping each other’s faces as they moved slowly against each other, savoring, walking back towards the bed. Hughie laid down on the white sheets and Butcher guided him so that he was laying at the center. Butcher climbed atop of him in one smooth motion and his entire body covered Hughie’s and he could stay like this forever, kissing, touching, it didn’t matter if they were hard, if it meant he got to have Butcher. “I never wanted to give you up. I never wanted you to feel that way.” Butcher kissed him softly once more and then began his trek down Hughie’s body.

He started at his jaw, teasing the skin there with his tongue and then his teeth. He moved from the left side of Hughie’s neck to his right, suckling at the skin until Hughie went dizzy with it. Hughie ran his fingers along the top of Butcher’s head, wishing there was something there to hold onto. Butcher’s hands rubbed along his sides and thighs, slow and even rubs, up and down, then back and forth, sometimes reaching across his stomach as if he couldn’t get enough of Hughie’s skin. Each stroke left Hughie aching, in a molten kind of way. Hughie returned the favor, running his hands along Butcher’s temples as he sucked at Hughie’s collarbone, then down the slope of his neck to his broad shoulders as Butcher pressed kisses down his chest. When Butcher’s mouth glided further down and Hughie couldn’t touch him as much, he became restless, hips shifting, legs rubbing up and down Butcher’s, their feet knocking against each other.

“So patient for me,” Butcher murmured. His tongue trailed along the slight v of Hughie’s hips and he was hyper aware of how close Butcher was to his cock and how he’d always wondered if he could rub off on Butcher’s face and come there. The beard burn had kept him at bay in the past, but now Butcher’s clean shaven was begging to get dirty and Hughie loved the darkness of Butcher’s eyes, the smirk that always appeared whenever Hughie fucking lost it. Butcher’s hands came down to his thighs, squeezing them gently before he began to spread them. “Absolutely perfect.” And Butcher was looking at him, but was also looking at Hughie’s cock, and how wet it had gotten, and now Hughie was blushing. He resisted the urge to twist away from the staring, to close his eyes and just let Butcher do whatever to him, but Butcher was watching him and there was no way he could look away now. 

“Please,” he whispered. Butcher’s face softened and he moved lower so that his mouth was resting near the tip of his dick. “Oh fuck, _please_.”

“Any other time, and I’d make you beg for it,” Butcher promised and the shiver that went down his spine was enough to make Butcher twitch. “Can’t resist,” and then his lips were wrapped around the tip and Hughie moaned at the hot, wet, suction, tight, so fucking tight perfection of Butcher’s mouth, his head fell back against the mattress, shivering and resisting the urge to thrust up into that mouth. Butcher sucked at him, going no further than the tip, and his other hands moved to raise one of Hughie’s thighs, propping it up against the bed. The shift had his cock sliding an inch further into Butcher. He moved his head up and down in tiny strokes. The hand at the back of Hughie’s thigh, scratched at the sensitive skin there, and then moved down further to swipe at Hughie’s balls and swipe at his hole.

“Fuck, Butcher--” Hughie gasped, hands balled in the sheets, completely untethered.

Butcher rose up from his cock, leaving it with a swipe at the slit. “Would you like me to fuck you?” he asked. And all the while, his fingers, his crazy-stupid-perfect fingers were rubbing at his hole, the thumb pressing in.

“Yes!” Hughie practically yelled. “Now!”

Butcher hummed and went back down again. He peppered kisses along Hughie’s shaft, nosing at the base. Hughie panted weakly as Butcher raised his other leg up, dragging his ass even closer to Butcher’s prying fingers. It wasn’t enough, of course it wasn’t enough, he needed Butcher, needed him inside, whether that be his tongue, his fingers, or his cock. 

Butcher’s teeth teased at the base and Hughie snapped, sitting up so he could reach down. “Up, up,” Hughie demanded, grabbing Butcher by the shoulders. “Lube,” he gasped when Butcher was finally flushed against him, atop him, his cock dragging sweetly against Hughie’s. “If you don’t get your fingers in me right now--” 

“What?” Butcher asked, rutting against him lazily. He smirked at Hughie. “What will you do, princess?”

“I don’t know,” Hughie admitted, squirming now. “But it’ll be very bad for you, so I suggest you fuck me right now and make me forget how to talk.”

Butcher kissed him until his lips were puffy, his grip tight on Hughie’s hip. God he hoped he had bruises tomorrow. When Hughie’s brain was successfully buzzed, Butcher let him go so he could get the lube, leaving for barely a moment before he was on Hughie again. (Hughie felt every goddamn second.)

The first finger went in smoothly. Butcher had decided that _now_ was the best time to torture Hughie, because he only used one finger, fucking it in and out in long strokes, and doing nothing else but kiss him. Hughie’s hips shifted back and forth, unable to keep still. The fire from before sizzled into an unbearable ache and Hughie could probably cry with how much he needed to be fucked right now. Or maybe the little phrases Butcher kept murmuring in between kisses, “so perfect,” “missed you,” “good boy,” “love you,” “Hughie, fucking hell, _Hughie_ ,” were making him tear up. When Butcher got him nice and wet with one finger, he slid in a second, and holy fuck, it felt so good, the stretch, finally having more inside of him.

Hughie whimpered at the third finger and he could come from this, he just knew it, but he wanted Butcher, wanted all of him, and there was this wet squelching sound as Butcher got all of his fingers inside of him and it made him run hot and grind down and bite at Butcher’s bottom lip.

“Please,” Hughie begged, pulling away, “please fuck me, Billy.”

“God I love you,” Butcher growled and his fingers were easing out of his hole, leaving him empty and aching for it, but it was okay, because in the next moment his cock, fat, wet, too big, too big, it’s not going to fit, fuck please, in me now, pressed inside and then he was getting filled. Any air in his lungs completely vanished and any thought in his head completely disappeared, any sensation narrowing down to the fullness he felt and how Butcher’s cock was pressing just shy of that perfect button inside of him and how he was going to come any moment now. Hughie drifted as Butcher rolled his hips slowly, dragging agonizingly in and out of him, and reminding Hughie of just how much Hughie missed this. The steady pass, the thumbs rubbing at his hips, the low murmur of Butcher’s voice. “…Hughie--dear, look at me.”

How long had Butcher been talking? 

Hughie let his eyes focus on the man he loved, shuddering at the sight. “Yeah?” he mumbled.

“Green?”

Hughie licked his lips and watched Butcher’s face darken. “Green,” he agreed, grinding against him. “Please,” he added because it would only make Butcher thrust harder.

Which he did, only to return to the slow and steady pace he had before. It was almost cruel, how careful Butcher was being with his body, how tender he was, how Hughie could feel every unspoken apology, every declaration of love, each hour apart, the wanting, the every goddamn second of it in how Butcher touched him. How he loved him. Butcher’s hands lifted Hughie’s legs to wrap around his hips, driving deeper inside of him, and those same hands ran through Hughie’s hair, tugging him close as they kissed. Hughie held Butcher by the hips, nails pressing into the skin there, begging him to keep going. Butcher started nailing him right where he needed it and he felt electric all over and like he was about to hurtle off the edge.

“I don’t want this to end,” Hughie cried, but unable to stop himself from rubbing against Butcher.

“It’s okay,” Butcher said, his nose bumping Hughie’s, “I’m right here with you.”

And that just about did him in as he came all over their stomachs, vision whiting out and skin burning so hot he felt he could explode again, only for Butcher to fall apart right after him, thrusting as deep as possible and slamming his mouth against Hughie’s. They were weak against each other, moving in short thrusts to make the feeling last longer. Hughie turned into a pile of mush and Butcher wasn’t any better, nosing at his neck and shivering. He wished vaguely that they’d gotten the covers free first, but his brain was still stuck on how fucking awesome he felt and how nice it was to have Butcher back in his arms.

“I love you,” Hughie murmured, running his hand up and down Butcher’s spine. He could feel Butcher’s cock twitch a little inside of him and heard the bitten off groan Butcher let out at that. It was too soon for round two, but by god, they were going to fuck again before they fell asleep. “I love you _so_ much.”

“Me too,” Butcher said and kissed him.

* * *

Hughie hummed quietly to himself as he carried the little bucket for ice down the hallway. He promised Butcher he’d be back in a bit. He wore one of those complimentary bathrobes and he thought about all the things he and Butcher were going to get up to when he got back. For one thing, refreshing water, for another, getting fucked part three. If Hughie was still standing, then clearly they hadn’t finished what they’d started. He got to the ice machine and started filling up the bucket, the machine grinding loudly. Hughie hoped no one could hear it.

“Hughie?” a familiar voice wondered from behind him.

He turned around, surprised to see his friend. “Shawn? Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?”

Shawn looked different than usual, dressed in all leather. What the hell was he doing here? Wouldn’t Hughie have known if he was taking a vacation sometime soon? “Funny,” Shawn snickered, “isn’t your boyfriend supposed to be dead?”

Hughie’s face scrunched in his confusion. “What are you--”

Shawn’s fist connected with his temple and holy fuck, Hughie _really_ needed to apologize to Frenchie for hitting him as his world cut to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally this was going to be set at sea world and then I realized that everyone would think Kevin was involved and also FUCK THAT!   
> Also Jock is the guy from the butcher short film  
> Also I KNOW THIS WAS A CLIFFHANGER IM SORRY but ALSO: i finished the FIC!!! i will be posting the last two chapters tomorrow or so hehehehehhe
> 
> but like 100 pts to whoever realized that shawn was lamplighter!


	9. fuck, butcher, i worry about you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shawn is annoying. stormfront is worse.
> 
> hughie is kidnapped. butcher saves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: stormfront is an atrocious fucking being and so she's homophobic and racist :/  
> she definitely says some racist stuff (no slurs) and her whole eugenics plan is the fucking worst! i do not CONDONE any of her actions. our society has already failed us enough for me to propagate such bullshit
> 
> anyway take care of yourselves! ily!!!

The first thing he noticed were the zip ties along his wrists and ankles, the sharp jabs of plastic to his skin. Then it was the scrape of the cotton robe along his back and how he seemed to be almost-naked while strapped to a chair. But most importantly: Butcher wasn’t there. As much as they got up to fun and kinky stuff, Butcher always made sure not to leave the room. Besides, all of their bondage gear was back at the apartment which was--

Hughie pried his eyes open as it all came back to him: the explosion, Butcher, the months alone, Florida, Stormfront, the carousel, _Shawn,_ Jesus fuck, why the fuck did this shit have to happen to him? Hughie was tied to a chair, feeling humiliated because his robe had come undone, and although his crotch was covered, his chest was unfortunately exposed. He wished he had some kind of armor, or you know, freedom of his limbs, but today continued to be stupid because he could see a familiar woman standing in front of him: Stormfront. The warehouse he was in was beaten up and had the awful smell of blood and bleach, which spoke of countless terrible things, with only the wide skylights above to provide lighting. He blinked under the harsh glare, wishing he was still asleep somehow.

He couldn’t see much else of the area, but he could hear distant groaning from another room. Sharp slaps, muffled cries. The sound of vomiting. There were a few voices, intermingled and muffled, which made Hughie think Butcher was right: Stormfront was involved with some kind of smuggling situation like Homelander had been. Hughie suppressed a shiver as he remembered Homelander and what it had been like, knowing that Homelander was going to kill him and how hopeless he felt in the face of it. At the time, Hughie hadn’t known if he would survive it, had been surprised by Butcher’s savior moment, but this time he knew Butcher was coming and it made him sick. Because Hughie wasn’t getting out of this one alive, and if Butcher came, neither would he.

“I see someone’s awake,” Stormfront leered, stepping closer like a shark upon her prey. “Shoulda known a sleeze-bag like Butcher was still kicking it. Oh well.”

Hughie licked his lips, finding them and his throat dry. “So, how did you, uh, know who I was?” 

“You think a dye job could fool me?” Stormfront rolled her eyes with a flick of her hair. “That trick only works on guys, shithead. I know Butcher did his intel on me, so I returned the favor. I know what you look like, I know all about you, Hughie.” 

She gestured at his body and Hughie tensed, hyper-aware of how naked he really was. One wrong uneasy shift of his thighs and all hell could break loose. But her eyes weren’t anywhere near his crotch, instead glued to his collarbone, which must’ve been covered in dark hickeys from the frown on her face.

“I had one of my guys follow you asswipes, just to make sure.” Then Stormfront smirked, “A little head’s up: Butcher really should sweep for cameras more carefully next time. Not that there will _be_ a next time. They make them small enough to fit into staplers these days, how neat is that?” She giggled in the way that parents did when they realized they could change their ringtones. _Technology, how neat!_

God, had he been hit in the head or something?

“Why am I here?” he rasped, his wrists straining against the cuffs before he realized that it only made things worse. He felt hopeless when all he really wanted was to kick Stormfront at the knees, maybe sock her in the face for all the mess she’d caused.

“I know Butcher knows where we are if he figured out the flower service.” Hughie had to bite his tongue to keep from pointing out that _he_ had been the one to figure that out. “And when he does come, I’m going to make him regret ever betraying me, and I’m going to use you to do it.” She inspected her acrylic nails gleefully, adding, “It was easy to find you two after that.” 

“Why didn’t you just kill us at the hotel?” Hughie asked. They would’ve had a fighting chance, guns and all. “We were pretty vulnerable there.”

“I wanted to watch,” Stormfront said, head tilting like a snake ready to bite. “Butcher deserves it after all he put me through.”

“It’s been years,” Hughie said, “can’t you get over it?” Because it was all so incredibly tiring. 

“A lady never forgets,” Stormfront snarled. She raised her foot and placed it on the edge of his chair, the toe pressed painfully against his crotch. If Hughie wasn’t currently restrained against his will and if Stormfront wasn’t the literal nightmare she was, he might’ve found the display a little hot. Instead, it left him tense and more than willing to tear off his skin if it meant he could run away. “And not after seeing what Butcher left me for. Tell me Hughie, do you think it’s normal for a guy to take it up the ass?”

“Are you fucking serious?” Hughie groaned, “You are _just_ like Homelander. Why do you guys care so much about our sex lives?” Couldn’t evil villains care about other things? Like how Hughie hated cilantro or that healthcare should be universal? 

“Because homosexuality is unnatural.”

He was not about to admit he was bi if only to protect himself from Stormfront trying to ‘turn him straight.’ _Gross_. 

Stormfront reached out to tug at his hair, contemplating it. That was it: he was shaving it all off when he got home. 

If he got home.

“What is it? A chemical imbalance?”she contemplated, still touching him. “I’m a doctor, maybe I could fix you.”

_Disgusting._

“I’m--I’m not too sure, uh,” Hughie leaned his head back, getting as far away from Stormfront as he could, which wasn’t by much, “your boyfriend will like that.”

“So you figured that out, huh?” Stormfront flicked his nose. “There must be a brain in there somewhere.” Stormfront took her shoe off him and stood up properly. “Besides, not like I’d care what a cuck has to say. He probably wouldn’t know how to do anything without a fluffer. Although, Shawn does seem to hold his purpose when--” The door opened behind them and Stormfront smiled at whoever was at the door. “You’re back!” She cheered like she was a lovestruck tween. 

The switch in demeanor had Hughie’s head spinning.

“Hey babe,” the person said, who turned out to be Shawn, coming around from behind Hughie to pull Stormfront into his arms. The two of them began making out and Stormfront was moaning like he was fucking cake, but it all looked and sounded fake. Like the sounds you’d hear on really shitty porn. When they were done eating each other’s faces, Shawn glanced at him briefly, saying, “Oh hey, dude.”

“Oh hey, what the fuck, _dude_?” Hughie asked, squinting at Shawn. “I thought we were friends?” But now it looked like Hughie’s foot belonged up that guy’s ass.

Shawn snorted. “You were an assignment. Keep an eye on you and Neuman and Co’s financials. At best, we were coworkers, and I had to put up with all your whining. At worst, you were my next shooting target.” 

He hadn’t been aware that Shawn was willing to kill, but he really shouldn’t have been so surprised. He also hadn’t been aware that their evenings at the movie theater weren’t a good time, because he was positive Shawn had enjoyed the superhero movie and the copious bags of popcorn. Fuckface _and_ a liar. 

Shawn turned to Stormfront. “Spotted B. Butcher outside. Doing a poor job of being subtle.”

“Can you really blame the dickbitch? We took his boyfriend,” Stormfront gagged at the term.

“Want me to kill him?”

“Nah, let’s wait until he’s inside.” Stormfront pulled her gun. 

“No need to wait,” a familiar voice called. Hughie twisted around in his seat to see Butcher entering the room, heart hammering when he realized Butcher was alone and had his gun drawn, the silver one he’d given Hughie. Butcher wore his long leather jacket. Hughie blinked at the familiar sight: Butcher looked like he belonged in a shitty early-2000s sci-fi movie. Which made Hughie the damsel in distress hacker. He was really starting to regret his trip to Florida.

“Drop the gun,” Shawn ordered, pointing his own weapon at Hughie. 

Butcher looked between Hughie and the gun, then Stormfront and Hughie, and then Shawn and Hughie, before coming to some kind of conclusion and lowering his gun to the ground. Hughie wanted to scream as Butcher stood up and raised his hands in surrender. Did he have another gun on him? Was he completely unarmed? Fuck, fuck, how were they going to get out of this?

“Over there,” Shawn said, pointing to the wall to Hughie’s left. 

Butcher took slow steps towards the wall. “What? Got nothing to say to me, Stormfront?” he smirked at Stormfront. “And after all that just to kill me. Tsk.”

“Oh, I was just thinking…” Stormfront contemplated. Her long nails trailed down the length of Hughie’s cheek. “About all the things I’m gonna do to your boy here. Tell me, how much do you value his tongue?”

Hughie swallowed.

“Don’t touch him,” Butcher growled.

Stormfront grasped Hughie by the hair, causing him to flinch. “I’ll do what I like with him. Maybe I should give him another hole?” She pressed the brunt of her gun to his crotch and Hughie almost leapt out of his skin, trying to cross his legs and being unable to. Stormfront chuckled absently. “Suppose not. It wouldn’t do him any good….”

“You’ve got me here, what do you want?”

“Well, first.” Stormfront raised her gun and shot Butcher.

He crumpled to the floor. 

Hughie jerked in the chair, struggling against the zip ties and Stormfront’s grip. “Butcher!” he screamed. His entire chest caved in on itself as Butcher fell, as if his body was the windshield of a car in an explosion. It was like the glitter of glass shards from a building above, rained down on him again, his cheeks burned from the sudden heat and fear. “Butcher!” 

“Oh relax,” Stormfront scoffed, smacking Hughie upside the head. The pain was nothing to how he already felt. “I only shot him in the shoulder.”

That didn’t mean jackshit when the man he loved was currently sprawled on the ground. Hughie’s shoulders pulled taut against as his body strained towards Butcher. He wasn’t moving from his spot on the floor. His ears replayed the sharp burst of noise as if it was Hughie’s head that had been shot. Butcher released a low, painful groan and sat himself up against the wall. His heart swooped again, this time from relief. Butcher was breathing, but he was still shot. They needed to get the fuck out of here. What Hughie would give to have super powers in this moment and be able to escape and be able to save the man he loved for once.

“You shoulda let yourself get blown up,” Stormfront told Butcher. She inspected her gun as if contemplating whether to shoot him again, this time in the head. What Hughie would give to see a bullet between her perfectly sculpted brows. “No one’s looking for you now that you’re dead. Which means, I can dump you with others when I’m done, and _no one_ will care.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Butcher gasped, clutching his hand to his chest. Hughie was amazed to see him still moving, still talking coherently. There must’ve been blood, lots of it, wet and sticky and spilling on the concrete floor where it didn’t belong. “People will look for Hughie.”

“After his poor work performance these past few months?” Stormfront snickered. “A little birdie told me Hughie withdrew a couple thousand dollars and was spotted at _Black Noir_ the same night. We both know that place has an…interesting reputation. Wouldn’t come as too much of a surprise if he disappeared after a night gone wrong.”

Hughie almost threw up at the thought of Stormfront or Shawn watching him that closely, following him to _Noir_ and seeing god knows what. Hughie shook as he spoke. “I took the money after I went to _Noir_ , I didn’t buy drugs there.”

“Semantics.” Stormfront shrugged. “It won’t be so much a stretch after Shawn plants some cocaine in your desk.”

“I have a cop friend,” Hughie said, frantically, “she would never believe I’d take that shit.”

She trailed her fingers over his face again. His skin crawled. “It doesn’t matter, dickhead, desperate people like you spiral hard. It can only end one way. After that, it will be smooth sailing to get my supply lines into New York.”

Hughie swallowed. Had he really that bad? Would people believe it? His father, definitely. M.M., perhaps. Robin, never. It couldn’t be like that.

“What I don’t seem to get,” Butcher interrupted, “is why you and Homelander are so fucking fixated on Compound V. There gotta be easier drugs to sell. You’ve got access to oxycontin for Christ’s sake, Compound V isn’t nearly as addictive, Stormy.”

“You think I care about how profitable Compound V is?” Stormfront laughed before her face fell flat again. “What you and all the boys out there seem to forget, Butcher, is that I’m _better_ than Homelander. I have a doctorate for God’s sake, he barely had an MBA!”

“Yeah, my girl’s smart,” Shawn parroted.

Stormfront ignored him. “Homelander was so caught up in the drugs, he forgot about the big picture. _I’m_ the big picture, can’t you see?”

Butcher snorted. “I think he was a little too busy taking the stuff to care about you--”

Stormfront slapped Hughie so hard his soul left his body. Butcher yelled his name but he barely heard it, too caught up in the stinging along his cheek and how much he wished he could rub it better or have an ice pack. Her nails were fucking _long_.

Her slap fogged his brain and he could barely make out what she was saying. He wanted the floor to crack open and swallow her and Shawn whole, want Butcher to rise above in a pair of angel wings like Icarus, wanted him to carry Hughie all the way back home to their apartment and order them a pizza.

“I made Compound V, I know what’s exactly in it…not about being addictive….only need to take it once. They deserve…,” Stormfront was saying, “like the people downstairs. It’s about protecting the bloodline. See? I’m making sure that those filthy drug users never taint the gene pool again.”

“You’re sterilizing them?” Hughie slurred, brain now running at top speeds. “What the fuck, they just need help.”

“I am helping.” Stormfront grinned evilly. “I’m helping people like _us_.” But she wasn’t gesturing to him and Butcher, she was gesturing to her and Shawn. 

“Yeah, no more helping the low-lifes,” Shawn agreed.

“Those people take resources from the rest of us,” Stormfront continued. “They shouldn’t be on welfare, they should be in prison, where they belong. I can’t believe we let them go free for so long.”

“I know you better than you think I do, “ Butcher growled, “you’re not talking about fucking drug users.”

“I’m talking about the filth of society,” Stormfront agreed. “And how they shouldn’t breed like the animals they are.”

“This ain’t about the drug community,” Butcher repeated, standing up now with effort, “and more about those pushed into it.”

“There was a reason they were pushed,” Stormfront decided. “It’s survival of the fittest.”

Literally _fuck_ social Darwinism. Hughie blinked, struggling to remember why he knew that term, but more importantly, glad he could still see through her homophobic, elitist, _racist_ bullshit even while she was being covert about it and--

“Blacks deserve to die,” Stormfront announced, much to everyone’s surprise.

Even Shawn gaped. “Babe, you can’t mean that. What about Eagle?” Hughie remembered Shawn showing him a picture of his brother once, a black guy who knew how to shoot an arrow like no one else. How stupid could Shawn be to share family photos with a mark? Shawn lowered his gun from Butcher, turning to his girlfriend in confused outrage. 

Butcher and Hughie glanced at each other.

“He smelled like rats,” Stormfront sniffed. And Hughie wanted to stomp on her with a pair of stilettos and maybe hit her with a waffle iron.

“That’s my brother!” Shawn complained. “He’s a good guy, why the fuck would you say that?”

“He’s your _foster brother_ ,” Stormfront corrected. Which, what?

“We grew up together, what the fuck?”

“And you’re lucky I found you when I did,” Stormfront said, “just imagine how _tainted_ you would’ve been if I hadn’t saved you from that?”

“It’s the 21st century, babe,” Shawn said, face burning, “black people are cool. Racism is bad.”

“Mixing the races is bad!” she yelled. “Why do you think I’ve been experimenting on only colored people? I don’t care if they live or die, because they should die! And once I wash the true population of their disease, I’ll set out to rid the impure deviants out, homosexuals, lesbians, and pedophiles alike!”

“Look,” Shawn said, “I was cool with the anti-gay stuff--”

Hughie squinted. “You’re cool with homophobia?”

“--but I draw the line at that other crap. Black people aren’t the problem.”

“Babe,” Stormfront crooned, walking over to him to hold him by the cheeks, “I thought you loved me.”

Shawn softened because he was a fucking idiot. “Of course I love you.” 

“Then why are you fighting me on this?” Stormfront pouted. She pressed herself close to him, her breasts squishing against his chest. Hughie cringed at the ridiculous display, only to cringe further when Shawn hopelessly glanced down at her cleavage. Pathetic. “I thought you said you would stand by me forever?”

“Of course I would, babe.” He leaned forward and she allowed him. They kissed softly, Hughie gagged.

“Then you should listen to me,” she whispered. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

“Mate,” Butcher called, “she’s only using you.”

“Shut up!” Shawn growled turning to face him, grip tightening around the base of the gun. “That’s the love of my life!”

“Let me guess,” Butcher continued, “she had _you_ deal with the Compound V distributors in New York.”

“So?” Shawn scoffed. Had Hughie honestly spent the last year sitting beside a fucking idiot? Hughie really thought the guy was smarter than that if they were getting paid the same salary.

“So, she got _your_ grubby hands all over the product, made _you_ the face of the operations.” Butcher rolled his eyes. “You’re a liability!”

““She was busy supplying everything,” he defended. “We’re an equal partnership.”

“She’s scamming you,” Butcher told him.

Stormfront frowned, holding Shawn’s hand. “Don’t listen to him, baby.”

“I know her tricks.” Butcher explained, “She’d get some schmuck off the street to do all the dirty work so she’d keep her hands clean.”

“Shawn, that’s not--”

“I’m sure she’ll make _you_ kill us, so it doesn’t get back to her. She’ll use you until she finds some other manipulatable prick like yourself.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Shawn growled, raising his gun. “She loves _me_.”

“You’re nothing,” Butcher leered, “I saw her do it loads of times. You remember Aaron? I remember you said he was dumber than a dump truck. Heard he washed up in the Hudson.”

Something flashed on her face, unbidden, and everyone in the room caught it.

“See?”

“Babe?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Stormfront growled. “Listen to me, babe, I’m only looking out for you.”

Hughie licked his lips and opened his mouth. “She called you a cuck earlier. Right before you came in here. Butcher’s right, she doesn’t care about you.”

“A cuck? Babe!” Shawn whirled on her. “I told you to stop calling me that!”

“I didn’t call you that!” she yelled, but her face was red as if she’d just been caught in a lie. “They’re lying! Stop being so fucking stupid!”

“She’s using you,” Butcher repeated, wobbling closer. “Like a canary in a coal mine.”

Hughie squinted at Butcher. What the fuck? Now was not the time for weird metaphors.

“You said you’d never call me that again,” Shawn growled, waving his gun around. Hughie leaned away from the interaction, eyes focused on the safety off of the gun. 

“Babe, if you were smart, you’d see that they’re just trying to get you to turn on me.”

“So now you’re calling me stupid?”

Butcher neared the three of them.

Stormfront struggled with her words, her brown eyes darting back and forth across the room. “You know I love you…”

“But you think I’m dumb? Think I’m a cuck!” Shawn screamed. Jesus fucking Christ, Hughie thought, straight people were crazy. “I’m not a goddamn cuck!”

“Well if you were a real man,” Stormfront sneered, “I wouldn’t have to call you that, huh? You know, I always fucking hated going up to see you--like take a fucking hint?”

“You said you wanted to spend _time_ together!”

“I’m not interested in your stupid fucking videogames, so yeah, I _did_ fuck Langston that time in D.C. while you got dinner, I fucked him _so_ good because his dick is way _bigger_ than yours will ever be, you fucking cuckold!”

“I rigged a bomb for you!” Shawn yelled. “I killed that Sage Grove guy for you!”

“And Anthony could’ve done a better job.” Stormfront spat in his face. “He fucked me better than you too.”

“You fucking bitch,” Shawn snarled and lunged. He smacked his pistol against her head, but she blocked it with her hand. She scratched down the side of his face and Shawn howled. The two punched, swatted, and yanked at each other, stepping away from Hughie as they yelled about their personal baggage. Shawn’s gun was thrown across the room, her tugged between the two of them. Stormfront threatened to disembowel him and Shawn threatened to shoot her. As Shawn and Stormfront struggled for the gun, Butcher finally reached him. His hand landed heavily on Hughie’s shoulder. 

“Billy,” Hughie breathed, leaning into the touch. Holy fucking shit, his hand was so _warm_ on him “Fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he murmured, voice deep and rich like the ocean. He pulled out a knife. 

“You’ve been shot!” Hughie looked him over, but Butcher barely reacted to the proclamation, only wincing slightly as he moved. He’d been shot on his left side, but still, it could’ve hit something important. Fuck, fuck, fuck--

Butcher sliced the zip tie around his one wrist. Hughie reached out desperately for Butcher, tugging at his jacket. “I’m fine,” Butcher repeated. “I need to get you out of here.”

“Billy…” Hughie’s fingers trembled as he pulled open Butcher’s jacket. He was expecting blood, but there was none. Only the bullet…crushed against…the Kevlar jacket. Hughie’s eyes darted from the bullet to Butcher’s steady face. The weird phrase from earlier, the Kevlar jacket, the lack of guns in Butcher’s hands… “Butcher, are you not alone? Did you--”

“Hey!” Stormfront yelled, interrupting them. Hughie and Butcher both looked at her, watching her tighten her grip around Shawn’s head. “What the fuck do you think you two are doing?”

“Don’t pay attention to them,” Shawn screamed, his face blistering red. “pay attention to _me_!” He twisted out of her grasp, gun in hand.

Butcher stepped protectively in front of Hughie.

What was happening? He couldn’t see a thing. Hughie snatched Butcher by the sleeve, pulling him closer, but Butcher wouldn’t move--

_BANG!_

Hughie’s heart stopped. Had Butcher been shot? He was standing so still? Fuck, shit, they got him, they shot him in the head, oh fuck, oh god, oh--

“You fucking shot me, you fucking shithead!” Stormfront screeched.

Butcher turned to face him and Hughie could breathe again, when he saw that he was perfectly whole, thank god. He looked over at Shawn and Stormfront. Shawn was currently on his ass, clutching his nose, presumably broken with how much blood there was. Stormfront was sprawled across the disgusting floor, clutching her outer thigh, or her butt more likely, where she’d been hit. Good. She’d been a pain in their ass, it was about time she got it in return for good. The gun had landed on the ground near Butcher, who kicked it far away from all of them. 

“Fucking idiots,” Butcher muttered and Hughie wanted to kiss him.

“FBI put your hands up!” a woman shouted from the entrance and suddenly the room was flooded with armed police, all of their guns pointed at them. Butcher raised his arms slowly and Hughie raised the one hand he did have, shivering as thousands of eyes landed on him. Hughie was never wearing a bathrobe ever again. The FBI converged on Shawn and Stormfront, who were still growling at each other even when they were handcuffed. Stormfront screamed Butcher’s name as she was led away, but neither men paid her much mind. And why would they?

Maybe another day, Hughie would visit Stormfront in her prison cell and punch her where it counted. Today, he’d rather bask in freedom.

As all of that was happening, Butcher had returned to Hughie, face creased with worry. He got on his knees and used the knife to free Hughie’s ankles and his other arm. Hughie rubbed his sore wrists as he looked at Butcher’s big brown eyes. “Are you alright?” Butcher asked, running his hands over Hughie’s face. “Did they do anything to you?”

Hughie shook slightly under the comforting touch. “No,” he reassured, holding Butcher’s hands over his cheeks, “just some threats. Shawn hit me on the head when he got me.”

“You might have a concussion,” Butcher murmured, leaning up to kiss him. 

Something in Hughie settled at the kiss. His head swam, maybe from the glide of Butcher’s tongue on his, or from getting hit, but it didn’t matter. Jesus fuck, they were alive.

“I never want to go to Florida ever again,” Hughie murmured against his lips. He ran his fingers across Butcher’s scalp and the tell-tale scritch of hair. “Please take me home.”

“I’ll do anything,” Butcher agreed. They kissed again, and Hughie wasn’t regretting the bathrobe nearly as much because that meant Butcher could totally slide his fingers underneath if he wanted and keep kissing him as he--

A woman cleared her voice from behind them. 

Hughie went bright red as Butcher pulled away slowly. The two men stared at each other for one dark moment, hunger and joy and love in their eyes. Butcher sat back on his haunches and turned to look at their interrupter, his hand heavy on Hughie’s robe-covered knee. 

She was an older woman, with gray-blonde hair and bird-like features. She cocked her head at the two of them. “Butcher,” she said in greeting. She was the woman that had shouted as the FBI raided the room. She was familiar with him.

“Mallory,” Butcher returned. He was familiar with her too.

“We found the lab and insured the safety of the human trafficking victims.” She crossed her arms, regarding him curiously. “Your tip paid off.”

“Of course it fucking did,” Butcher scoffed. “You know my work is nothing short of fucking exemplary.”

“That may be,” Mallory admitted, “but you and I both know there’s more we need to prosecute. Did you get it?”

“I did,” Butcher said, standing up. Hughie watched, transfixed as Butcher began to unbutton his shirt. Really? Right now? While everyone was watching? Butcher winced as he revealed the kevlar vest under his shirt. Along the vest was a distinct wire and microphone. Butcher unwound it from his chest and passed the recorder to Mallory. “There should be enough on there to clear up some details and get a fucking conviction. I want her in a supermax.”

“The D.A. and I will have a word,” Mallory agreed. “But there should be enough here to prove drug trafficking, human trafficking, murder, attempted murder, tax fraud, and who knows what else.”

“You were wearing a wire?” Hughie asked in surprise.

“Yeah, thought I’d take a page out of your book,” Butcher winked.

God, Hughie was in love with the bastard.

“Come on,” Butcher grinned, reaching down to pull Hughie up from the seat. “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

“You were the one that was shot,” Hughie agreed. He leaned heavily against Butcher, wrapping his arms around his perfect fucking shoulders. He kissed him on the cheek and was so fucking eager to get out of here.

Butcher snorted.

Mallory cleared her throat again. “Let me get you an escort.”

“We don’t need one--”

“I’d sleep better at night,” Mallory told him, “the sooner I get you out of my state. Nice to see you again.”

“You too,” Butcher smiled. Butcher turned to Hughie. “Ready to go home, darling?”

“Fuck yeah,” Hughie breathed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW! i meant to post that earlier but then i got distracted from editing by reading an actual book for the first time in my life (impressive) but i PROMISE the last chapter will go up tomorrow xoxoxoxo
> 
> in another lifetime, hughie would've gotten a chance to kick the shit out of stormfront. however, i find so much satisfaction in butcher using one of hughie's tricks to win. i think that shows growth, partnership, and LOVE.
> 
> my new love language will be comprised of hair bleach, sushi, and undercover wires


	10. fuck, butcher, thank you (epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hughie and butcher go home <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the end, huh? i hope yall enjoyed the ride as much as i did. hughie/butcher 4ever
> 
> also someone made chibi butcher and gang on etsy??? um!??   
> here

They stayed in Florida for an additional three days. There were some witness statements they both had to make and the trip to the hospital had concluded that yes, Hughie did have a concussion, but a light one at that. They were both treated and sent on their way. Mallory stopped by the second night with a bottle of whiskey in hand, and they spent the evening recounting old stories for Hughie, who was desperately trying not to let on the fact that Butcher had fucked him into the mattress ten minutes before she showed up (he had a distinct feeling she already knew.)

When they finally got back to New York, there was a lot to sort out. Robin was mad at Hughie for disappearing and pissed at Butcher for being a complete fucking idiot, but Annie seemed to unaffected, actually agreeing that Butcher was smart for faking his death. Yes, that led to a heated debate between Robin and Annie, but it ended with Hughie ordering take-out as a peace treaty. His father had been worried sick and still had no idea what to do about the Hughie and Butcher situation. Hughie bargained that if Hughie could get over the Thanksgiving disaster, Hugh could get over the last couple of months. 

Hughie had been worried about his job for a total of two hours before Kimiko presented him with evidence of Shawn tampering with company data. Hughie was able to convince his boss that disappearing for a week or so would never happen again, and that he would come in first thing on Monday to start cleaning up the mess Shawn had caused. His boss was grateful and a little worried, but then again, Hughie could always call Chad (who, he had already made amends with and sent over two boxes of some very expensive and mildly illegal cigars from Cuba that they’d gotten in Florida) for another favor. One of these days, Hughie was going to revamp Chad’s entire web-browser interface so that he could honestly make up for throwing him through the ringer.

This left Frenchie, who he hadn’t seen since he hit him.

“Hughie,” Frenchie started, tears in his eyes, “again, I am so sorry.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. All he really wanted to hear was Frenchie calling him a little strawberry again so they could be normal. Instead, Hughie wrapped him into a hug. 

M.M. had been smart enough to vacate the office that day.

They’d all have a heart to heart another day, hopefully over crepes or shawarma. Hughie, Butcher, Kimiko, M.M., and Frenchie. There would be no more faking deaths, dangerous cases from one’s past, or beard-shaving as long as Hughie was in Butcher’s life. There would be _communication_ and Hughie would also restrain himself from turning to Chad or Annie every time something mildly uncomfortable happened. Much, much, _much_ later, Hughie would contemplate registering the gun Butcher had given him, but that was a meltdown for another day.

Which actually left them with one thing. One major thing. The important thing: the apartment. 

Butcher had his hands covering Hughie’s eyes as he guided him through a familiar apartment complex. It was the same one Butcher had lived in prior. Hughie had no fucking clue what they were doing here and he was getting a little queasy at the idea of returning to the charred husk of their old home. 

“Why are we here?” Hughie sighed, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, it was too hot for them this time of year. “I don’t want--”

“Hush, Hughie,” Butcher soothed, leading him down a hall. They stopped. “I promise this is a good surprise.”

“What? You found my jacket?” Hughie asked.

“Close,” Butcher chuckled. Then one of Butcher’s hands left his face, leaving a sliver of light against the corner of his left eye where his hands couldn’t reach, to open some door. Butcher pushed it open and guided Hughie inside.

“Butcher…” he said uneasily.

Butcher slipped his hands down Hughie’s face with a short, “Surprise.”

Hughie blinked at the sight before him.

They were in their old apartment.

No.

They were in a _new_ apartment, except this one was a little bigger and the walls were painted a light blue instead of navy. Hughie stared at what he was seeing. All of their stuff, _all of it_ , neatly unpacked and settled into their proper place. The couch he’d spilled lo mein on, right there, the shelf of Billy Joel CDs, over here, the _Star Trek_ poster, right where it belonged.

“Butcher, what…? How?” Hughie turned to face him, eyes burning. “It didn’t--you didn’t--you…?”

Butcher took Hughie’s hand and squeezed it slightly. “M.M. and I moved everything in before we set off the explosion.”

So maybe Hughie _did_ have something to thank M.M. for.

“When were you going to tell me you bought a new place?” Hughie asked, heart hammering.

“I was going to bring it up a week before everything happened,” Butcher admitted. “It’s got a second room. Thought it’d be good for when you brought the rest of your stuff in. Finally get out of your old pop’s.”

Hughie thought he’d have to give up his collection of action figures to make the full move.

“That alright?” Butcher asked, nervous now. “I know I didn’t ask, it was last minute I promise, and I know you liked the hole in the hall from the last place.” 

Hughie only liked that hole because they got it from knocking a lamp into it while they were fucking. Like how he liked the crack in the kitchen floor from the time Hughie dropped a frying pan from Butcher coming up behind him to tickle him. Like how he liked the curtains in his shower because they made it easy for Hughie to stare at Butcher’s bum while he was in the shower and Hughie was brushing his teeth. It was about the memories. They could make new ones here. It was possible. All of it.

“Is it really all here?” Hughie asked, starting to tear up now. 

“Yes,” Butcher confirmed.

“Even my jacket?”

Butcher’s face softened. “Yeah, even that.” 

Hughie felt like he could cry. Maybe he already was. 

“It’s over there.” Butcher nodded at the couch. “I’ll just give you a moment…” He squeezed his hand briefly. And then Butcher left, heading down the hall. He wondered what the bedroom looked like and resolved to find out shortly.

Hughie wiped his face as he approached the couch. 

Laying across the top was his favorite jacket. It was a green-gray color with an orange and white stripe on the right side of it. He loved it for all sorts of reasons. Robin had given it to him a random day in September, it was good for any weather, and most importantly, it had a little pocket on the inside, which was perfect for packets of peanuts for the movie theater, hiding his wallet when it was late at night, or leaving his headphones there so he wouldn’t lose them anymore. He picked up the well-worn jacket and opened it up, reaching into the pocket. His fingers grasped on the small box he’d hidden in there a few months ago. At this point Hughie could barely remember when he’d gotten it. He’d been waiting for the perfect time… 

He pulled it out, laying it neatly in the palm of his hand. He’d spent many nights hiding away in the front hall while Butcher slept, thumbing at the box hidden in his jacket. Wondering, daydreaming, smiling to himself like an idiot. Butcher surely knew about the box, even before the explosion, and him telling Hughie about the jacket only proved it. And that made everything all so real and exciting. He opened it and smiled at the familiar sight. 

His jacket was perfect for all sorts of things, Hughie decided, like hiding the golden ring meant for Billy Butcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall thought the jacket was JUST a coping mechanism?!?!?! HAHAHA I ALWAYS PLANNED THIS!!!
> 
> anyway, obviously the two go into their bedroom and fuck like bunnies and one day hughie proposes to butcher (after many many MANY more talks and probably counseling/therapy lmaooo) because hughie is the BEST and butcher really should get swept off his feet skskskks i love them

**Author's Note:**

> how mad would you be if i told you i came up with the basic premise of this fic a year ago and i was only waiting to see what the new season was like. anyway I LOVE YOU! we have a rough ride up ahead


End file.
